No Bones About It
by Ashleyder1
Summary: While working on a mob case, Booth and Brennan find themselves caring for two naïve, yet highly intelligent, adolescents. WARNING: disciplinary spanking of teens. PLEASE DO NOT read if this offends.
1. The New Assistant

**No Bones About It**

**Summary: **While working on a mob case, Booth and Brennan find themselves caring for two naïve, yet highly intelligent, adolescents.

**Author's Note: **This story was started as a challenge from Jlbrew27 to me about two years ago, but due to real life issues I gave it to him to work on for awhile. After making wonderful progress with it, he has generously offered it back to me to finish so it's really a joint effort. I know I still have two unfinished stories out there but my muse just isn't cooperating with those so I thought I'd try something different.

**Warning: **This story will contain spanking of teenagers if you don't like or approve, PLEASE DO NOT READ. I understand that some people think CP to be completely unrealistic given the backgrounds of certain cannon characters, and if so I completely understand but then this particular bit of AU fiction might not be for you.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Bones_ or any of the characters. I am making no money from this...it's just for fun.

**_Chapter One: The New Assistant_**

"Booth, you're back earlier than expected," Dr. Brennan noted, "That's good."

"Miss me?" Booth answered with a grin. He had just returned from testifying on a case in Boston.

"You weren't really gone all that long," Brennan said her brow furrowing.

"Yes, but you said it's 'good' that I'm back which means you missed me," Booth said with great satisfaction.

Brennan rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the person to whom she had been speaking.

Booth frowned. "Ah, who's the kid?" he asked, looking askance at the teenager standing just behind Brennan and to her right.

"This," Brennan said with a big smile, "Is my new graduate assistant. Or at least I am hoping he will be my new graduate assistant. That's why I'm glad that you are back early. Meet Zack Addy. Zack, this is my partner and the Jeffersonian's liaison with the FBI, Special Agent Seeley Booth."

"What? He can't be a graduate assistant. He doesn't look old enough to be out of high school. No offense kid."

Brennan frowned. "What does his age have to do with anything?" she asked, puzzled.

"Actually, Agent Booth," Zack replied seriously. "There is no requisite age for graduating from high school. I am fifteen but I have also just started my graduate work."

"Zack is a prodigy. He has a brilliant mind."

"But he's a kid, Bones. He can't…see the stuff we have to…what I mean is…look our work is R-rated due to its violent nature. He's too young."

Zack looked ready to comment, but Brennan held up her hand to forestall the teen. "Booth, he has been evaluated by both Dr. Wyatt and Dr. Goodman, as well as Dr. Saroyan. Despite his youth, they all deem him cable of adequately coping with the nature of our work."

"_You_ consulted a psychiatrist?"

"Not by choice," Brennan admitted sourly, "I was confident in Zack's intellectual ability. He has proven himself as an adept scientist, so discriminating against him due to his age is unfair and illogical. However, since not everyone was able to consider the situation as rationally or without bias as myself, we were required to fulfill certain criteria before I could accept Zack as my assistant."

"Yeah, no kidding," Booth snorted, "He's fifteen, Bones. He needs to be out playing arcade games with his friends and chasing cheerleaders in short skirts. There's so much he'll miss out on."

_Like I did, you mean. _Brennan couldn't help but think to herself, though she did not voice her thought aloud.

"I sincerely doubt that I will miss having my head shoved into a toilet bowl, or being trapped in a locker, or being unwilling dressed as the hockey team's mascot. I assure you if I attempted to chase any of the cheerleaders, her boyfriend would pummel me into oblivion. Working with doctor Brennan is a dream come true, Agent Booth."

"He belongs here with his intellectual peers," Brennan stated stubbornly.

Booth held up his hands in surrender, "Okay, fine. It's not like you need my permission."

"But I do need your help," Brennan admitted, biting her lip.

"What do you mean?" Booth asked, suspiciously.

"Zack's mother lives in Michigan and since he is only fifteen someone needs to be responsible for him while he is here. Originally he was going to stay with a family friend, but he had to leave town unexpectedly. I've spoken with his mother and she is comfortable with him staying with me, but has a few concerns."

"Just a few?" Booth scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Brennan glared at the FBI agent but ignored the sarcasm for the moment and continued, "She appreciates that Zack and I are intellectually compatible and that I can understand his interests and act on his behalf concerning his academic pursuits. But…"

"She's worried about me being around what she terms as 'normal' people," Zack blurted out. "Mom continues to worry about my social integration."

"What about your dad?" Booth asked curiously.

"He, uh, died," Zack said quietly. "Last year."

"Oh," Both said, feeling like he could kick himself. "I'm sorry."

_"_We weren't close," Zack told him, shrugging. "He never understood me."

_I can relate, _Booth thought to himself.

"I assured Mrs. Addy that different members of our team form a balance of personality types, including an adequate male role-model with interests outside of the realm of science," Brennan continued with a self-satisfied smirk. "She would like to meet you."

Booth was shaking his head immediately, "Oh, no, I really don't-"

"Please, Booth," Brennan pleaded, her blue eyes boring into his brown ones. "We're partners. We are supposed to do things for one another. Having a capable and reliable assistant will not only improve efficiency in the lab but put me in a better state of mind as well. You like it when I'm in a good mood."

Booth sighed, knowing he couldn't refuse her. "When?" he asked, resigned to his fate.

"How about lunch today?" She suggested, smiling brightly.

Booth nodded. "You owe me for this, Bones," he told her dourly.

Brennan just offered a satisfied smile.

***BONES***BONES***BONES

Booth met Brennan, Zack, and Zack's mom at noon at Sid's.

Mrs. Addy was an older woman, well into her late fifties, which surprised him.

"I've had seven children, Agent Booth," she told him, cheerfully. "Zack is my baby." She smiled at her son, who blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Mom…"

Booth grinned. He liked her. "So, Dr. Brennan said you wished to meet me," he said, hesitantly.

"Yes, I did," Mrs. Addy told him, "Though from what I've heard from Dr. Brennan I think you'll do nicely."

"For what exactly?" Booth asked her, curiously.

Mrs. Addy sighed. "Zachary is a brilliant boy," she told him, again smiling at her son, "but he is still terribly naïve and innocent when it comes to the real world."

"Mom," Zack complained, frowning, "I'm not that naïve…"

"Of course not, dear," Mrs. Addy said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes heavenward.

Booth smirked. He _definitely_ liked her now.

_"_And while I am certain Dr. Brennan and her team are more than capable of helping him achieve his long-term scholastic and career goals," she went on, smiling at Bones, "It is his long-term life skills I worry about. I would very much like him to know what he'll be facing once he gets out onto his own permanently—especially when I am no longer there to guide him."

_"_That's perfectly understandable, Ma'am," Booth told her, simply. "How can I help?"

"Dr. Brennan says that your interests are not in the world of science," Mrs. Addy said. "That you are a people person, I believe is how she described you. I would appreciate it if you could find time to perhaps take Zack on an outing every once in a while—something that doesn't involve bones and the like."

"I'm not sure if what I find entertaining is something your son would," Booth told her, glancing at Zack—who nodded.

"Oh, I'm sure the two of you can compromise," Mrs. Addy said. "Dr. Brennan tells me you're a father."

"Yes, Ma'am," Booth nodded. "My son Parker is four."

"Ah, I remember Zachary at that age," she said wistfully. "Even then, he was such a serious child."

Again, Zack blushed and tried not to sigh too loudly. Brennan smiled at him in support, which Booth didn't fail to notice.

"Basically, all I'm asking," Mrs. Addy said, "Is that you be the strong male influence in Zack's life. His father passed away last year and the two were never very close. All of his brothers are a great deal older than he—a couple of them even have sons his age—and so it is awkward for him to go to them for any advice or problems he might be having. Will you do this for me, Agent Booth? It would put my mind at ease, being so far away from my baby boy."

Booth swallowed. There was no way he could say no to this sweet, obviously caring lady. "Of course," he told her, with a slightly forced smile. "I'd be happy to."

"Excellent!" Mrs. Addy smiled widely at all of them. Brennan and Zack both smiled as well.

Booth just sighed inwardly. _Somehow, someway_, he couldn't help thinking, _this is going to come back to bite me on the butt…_

_TBC…_


	2. A New Case

**PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**

**_Chapter Two: A New Case_**

_Roughly One Month Later…_

"We've got another body at Georgetown," Booth said poking his head into Brennan's office.

Dr. Brennan's brow furrowed. "Another?" She asked shaking her head. "Does it bear similarities to those found last month?"

"Won't know until we get there," the FBI agent answered tilting his end to indicate that they should leave.

Brennan was quick to get to her feet and follow her partner. "Do you still think this is mob related?"

"The first two victims were young adults from mob families. They were violently beaten, their flesh peeled off, and all of their bones broken then left in a shallow grave in very public places. Yeah, I think it's highly likely."

"Not all their bones were broken," Brennan corrected him automatically. "Just their distal phalanges, the tibia and fibula, the radius and ulna, and different facial bones in each victim."

Booth rolled his eyes, "Still, point being, one high power crime family is trying to send a message to a few others," he told her. "I'm sure of it."

"I do think it is significant that both were young males. Historically, killing offspring, particularly male offspring, in a violent manner demonstrates a show of dominance. Not only taking a life but removing their genetics from the gene pool thereby gaining dominance in future generations."

"Oh, yeah, I think the message is pretty clear. 'Gonna strip your flesh and break your bones and leave you for worm food.' Why were they buried on campus, though? Only one was a student."

"None of the forensic evidence thus far supports an answer to that question," she replied with a sigh.

"And unfortunately," Booth sighed as well, "We still aren't any closer to determining which of the leading crime families might be behind the murders."

"If it is a leading crime family," Brennan commented skeptically. "This could be the work of a serial killer. Perhaps this new victim will provide the evidence that we need. Where on campus were the remains found?"

"Dahlgren Quandrangle, just outside Dahlgren Chapel," he told her as they got into his SUV.

_"_How did your outing with Zack go?" she asked him as he pulled onto the street.

Booth grimaced. "Fine," he said, quietly. "Why? Did he complain or something?"

"No, of course not," she replied. "In fact, he indicated that he had a rather nice time."

"Oh," Booth said, feeling guilty. It wasn't like Zack wasn't a good kid or anything. The two of them had worked out an arrangement in which they agreed to go on a 'male bonding' outing every other week. They would alternate as to who got to pick what activity they did—the other one always had veto privileges as long as they had an alternative they both could agree upon. The first one had been his pick—a night of bowling. This last one, the second one they had been on, had been Zack's pick. Booth smiled as he recalled what must have been a completely horrified look on his face when the kid had told him where they were going_._

_==Flashback==_

_"We're going where?" Booth asked inredulously as they drove out of the city. Granted he knew their intended destination but he hadn't exactly been paying close attention when Brennan and Zack were discussing the outing with him._

_"To an antique air show," the fifteen-year-old genius repeated his previous statement. "I've always been fascinated with engineering—in fact, I'm minoring in aerospace engineering at school."_

_"Kid," Booth said, smirking, "we really need to find you a hobby."_

_Zack frowned. "Engineering is my hobby," he explained seriously. "Forensic anthropology is my career of choice."_

_Booth sighed. This kid was going to be almost as tough a nut to crack as Bones._ _"So, what happens at this air show?" he asked, attempting to show some interest for the kid's sake. _

_"Well, for the most part," Zack explained, "you are allowed to walk around and view the different antique airplanes and such—learning how each one was made, when it was used, and what its intended purpose was."_

_"So, it's a lot like an antique car show, huh?" Booth clarified with a nod._

_"I suppose so," Zack said, frowning, "but I have never been to a car show before."_

_Booth grinned. He'd just figured out one of their future activities._

_"Okay," he said. "What else?"_

_"Well," Zack continued, "I believe there are some rides and things for kids and such."_

_"Oh, really?" Booth asked. "You plannin' on ridin' any?"_

_"Why would I?" Zack queried, looking utterly baffled by the question._

_"Well, you said they were for kids…" Booth said suggestively, shrugging and working at keeping a smile from his face as he teased the young genius._

_"I meant children, Agent Booth," Zack replied earnestly, completely missing the jest._

You **are **a child_, Booth couldn't help but think, though he didn't say it out loud._

_Zack was so serious all the time as if he were an adult trapped in an adolescent body. Booth found that sad and wanted to help the kid try and act…well, more like a kid. _

_"Towards the end of the show," Zack went on, "there's going to be an aerial display where we'll get to actually see some of the antique planes being flown."_

_"That'll be cool," Booth admitted. "So, will there be food or what?"_

_Zack grinned. "Oh yes," he assured the FBI agent. "Dr. Brennan suggested I pick something that had lots of food for you to eat."_

_"I'm not that bad," Booth insisted. "I just have…a healthy appetite."_

_"Oh, that's what my mom says about me," Zack said, smiling. "I eat a lot, too."_

_Booth smirked. "See there," he chuckled slapping the kid companionably on the back, "We have something in common, after all."_

_Zack smiled and seemed to sit up a little straighter. It was obvious that one statement meant a lot to him._ _He guessed the kid was all right, after all._

_==End Flashback==_

_"_He looks up to you," Brennan spoke, bringing Booth back to the present.

"Who?" Booth asked absentmindedly.

"Zack," she replied. "He won't say it, but I can tell those outings mean a lot to him."

"Oh, well," Booth said, quietly. "Good."

"We're here," Brennan said, as they turned onto the university campus.

Booth nodded. "Let's go," he said, his voice determined. "We've got a murder to solve."

After all, that is what they did best.

***BONES***BONES***BONES

"Booth, this lacks several of the key features of the other bodies," Brennan told her partner an hour later.

_"_How so?" Booth asked his brow furrowed.

"These remains belong to a female, in her late twenties to early thirties and have never been buried. She was wrapped in this sheet and left atop, what looks to be a crudely constructed cairn."

"But the bones are broken, and the flesh stripped," he reminded her. "That's consisted with the others."

"Decomposition is more advanced, but yes it does look as if that is the case." Bones bent down to sniff the sheet on which the body lay. "Myrrh," she commented, frowning.

"What?" Booth pulled on his ear and gave his head a shake, certain he had heard wrong.

"The sheet smells heavily of, myrrh," Brennan explained.

"As in gold, frankincense, and myrrh? That kind of myrrh?" Booth wanted to know, somewhat doubtful.

Brennan cast an irritated look in Booth's direction. "If you are referring to the Biblical myth of the gifts presented by the magi to the Christ child, then yes," she replied earning a scowl from the FBI Agent. "Historically, myrrh was used extensively in ceremonial rites of several religions. It continues to be used in incense and essential oils today. Also, this sheet," here the anthropologist held up a corner of the material, "Is probably Egyptian cotton. I would say at least 1000 thread count if not higher."

"Soooo… expensive?"

"Do you consider $250-$300 per sheet expensive?"

"Ah, yeah, "Booth said, letting out a whistle. "Definitely."

"We should get the remains back to the lab," Brennan insisted as she stood.

Booth nodded. "I need to canvas the area and make sure nobody saw anything," he told her. "Let me know as soon as Angela has an ID."

***BONES***BONES***BONES

A few hours later, they reunited on the university campus to interview someone who might know something about the murder.

"Our victim is Dr. Arianna Freeman," Brennan reminded him. "She was a professor of psychology here at the university."

"Yeah, Bones, I know. Angela called and told me, remember?" Booth replied in exasperation as he knocked on the door to the dorm room. "Now, just let me handle the questions."

"Why?" Brennan demanded just as the door swung open.

"Hello, can I help you?" A young teen with curly brown hair and brown eyes asked.

Holding up his badge, Booth answered. "I'm Special Agent Booth with the FBI and this is my partner Dr. Brennan from the Jeffersonian Institute. We're looking for a Lance Sweets. Is he here?" he asked, trying to look around the teenager.

"Oh, this is so totally awesome!" the teen replied, smiling brightly. "I'm Lance. Come on in."

The boy stepped back to reveal a rather messy dorm room and allowed them to enter. "So are you here about Dr. Freeman? Is she okay?" he asked them, eager for information. "I tried to tell the other faculty that there was something wrong as soon as she missed our meeting, because like that is so not Dr. Freeman, ya know? But of course they had to wait what they considered an appropriate amount of time before reporting her missing."

"You're Lance Sweets?" Booth asked, frowning.

"Yeah, that's me," Lance answered with an unabashed grin.

"Aren't you a little young to be in college?" Booth asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, like sure I'm younger than practically everyone else here, but I was home schooled and finished all my high school courses way early," Lance explained, plopping down into a computer chair and propping his feet up on the chaotically cluttered desk. "I actually started some of my core requirements online before I even got here."

"Doesn't anyone just go to high school anymore like a normal teenager?" Booth demanded, shaking his head.

Completely un-offended, Lance grinned at this. "Well, Agent Booth," he told him. "I tend to favor a multifaceted theory of conscious intrinsic motivation, which tends to define 'normal' more along the lines of how we express our intrinsically held values."

"What does that mean?" Booth asked shaking his head.

"It means he's a psychology student," Brennan said, lifting up a textbook with a heavy sigh.

"Psychology is awesome!" Lance exclaimed. "I'm taking three-hundred level courses now and it is totally radical. I love digging into people's heads," he explained proudly. "You know, find out how they tick and all that?"

"Three hundred level classes?" Booth asked incredulously. "What? Did you start when you were ten?"

The smile dropped from the teen's face and he glared at the FBI agent. "I told you I started at home via the internet and I actually AP'd out of several classes," he answered drily, "I'm fifteen."

"Where are your parents?" Booth demanded. "They just let you go off to college on your own?"

"What exactly does that have to do with your investigation?" Lance countered.

"Nothing," Booth replied. "Never mind." He shook his head again.

"Booth suffers from age bias," Brennan explained with a smug smile.

"What? I do not!" Booth growled, annoyed. "I just think kids aught to have the right to be kids."

"They also should have the right to follow intellectual pursuits when they are prepared to do so rather than when societal norms dictate," Brennan lectured in a tone she normally reserved for her graduate students.

Lance's brown eyes sparkled in amusement. He was enthralled with the interaction between the two partners. _I could so write a paper on them_, he thought grinning at the pair.

"Okay, fine, whatever," Booth said with irritation as he turned back to the kid. "I understand that you were the last person to see Arianna Freeman alive, correct?"

"You mean she's dead?" Lance sputtered in wide-eyed shock.

The FBI Agent could have kicked himself for his insensitivity. He wouldn't normally have broken such delicate news that way. With a sad nod, Booth continued quietly, "I'm afraid so, kid. I'm sorry."

"Wow," Lance said, obviously stunned. "I mean, I knew something was wrong…but I never…" the youth's voice caught in his throat and he dropped his feet down, putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I know this is difficult," Brennan told him, being surprisingly gentle, "but can you answer Agent Booth's questions?"

"Yeah," the teen muttered clearing his throat and blinking several times, bringing his head up, "I mean…Yes, I can," Lance cleared his throat again and ran his arm across his eyes, sitting up straight with an impressive determination. "I was helping her with her research that Friday night. She was still there when I left at ten."

"Did you see anyone around?" Brennan probed.

"Yes," he told them. "I forgot one of my books and went back in to get it. Dr. Freeman was arguing with a man."

"Did you recognize this man?" Booth asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," the teen said, "but I had seen him once before. That same week, in fact. She hadn't been too happy to see him, but he was all over her. I think he might have been an ex-boyfriend or something."

"What makes you say that?" Brennan queried, narrowing her eyes. She was always skeptical of people making assumptions without evidence.

"Well," Lance said hesitantly, "Dr. Freeman's initial response to seeing him was more consistent with pleasant surprise, but almost immediately turned to displeasure. She asked him what he was doing there and how he had found her. Then she tried to insist he leave. He, on the other hand, kept looking at her with intense longing. He told her how good she looked and how much he had missed her. I gave them some privacy after that."

"And that Friday night?" Booth pushed, beginning to get a picture—maybe.

"They were arguing," Lance shrugged. "I think he wanted her to marry him. I heard her say something about not wanting that kind of life, but I—uh—didn't want to eavesdrop so I just left."

"Could you describe this man to a sketch artist?" Booth asked the kid gravely.

"Sure," Lance nodded. "There's something else you might be interested in. That guy wasn't her only visitor that week."

"Who else was there?" Booth wanted to know, impressed with the kids observation skills.

"Another guy," the boy told them. "This one she hugged, but then acted all mad at. She called him Luka. If I didn't know better, I would have thought they were brother and sister—or maybe close cousins."

"Why was this strange?" Brennan inquired curiously. "Didn't she ever have family call or visit before?"

"Dr. Freeman told me she didn't have any family," Lance answered.

"You seem to know a lot about Dr. Freeman. You must have spent a great deal of time with her," Booth noted with a frown, thinking it a bit odd that a student, and a young one at that, would have spent so much time with one of his professors.

Lance nodded. "I am—uh—_was_ her undergraduate research assistant," he told them, sadly. "And I had already asked her to be my advisor for my senior research thesis. It's still a ways away and all but Dr. Freeman and I had talked about some possibilities," he explained trying to keep the quiver from his voice. In truth, many of the faculty didn't take Lance seriously because of his youth. Dr. Freeman had always encouraged and supported Lance.

"I realize this must be hard for you, Lance," Booth observed compassionately, "but would you be able to come with us now to describe these men to a sketch artist?"

"Yeah, but will it take long? I have class in, like, two hours," the boy said, looking at his watch. The potential to actually DO something seemed to quell his emotions and there was an edge of excitement to his voice rather than the grief of moments before.

"No," Booth told him, honestly. "It shouldn't take long and I'll drive you back here afterwards so you won't miss your class."

Lance bounced up, and grabbed his coat. "This so cool!" he said, all but throwing the door open. "Let's go."

Booth and Brennan exchanged amused glances at the teen's ability to richochet from sorrow to enthusiasm, but then shrugged and headed out the door with him right on their heels.

As promised, the sketch artist was able to get both sketches within forty-five minutes and Booth had the kid back at the campus in plenty of time for his class.

"If you remember anything else," he told the kid, handing him a card, "or if you see either of those men again, give me a call, okay? Doesn't matter how late it is, either."

Lance nodded, taking the card from him.

"Thanks," he said, "I really hope you nail this son of a bitch. Dr. Freeman was a really nice lady. She didn't deserve to die like that."

Booth nodded, gripping his shoulder in sympathy. "You have my word," he told him, seriously.

Lance smiled. "See you later, Agent Booth," he said, and bounced out of the SUV.

Booth watched him head inside to his dorm and shook his head. _Kid could give Parker a run for his money with all that energy_, he couldn't help but think. He then started up the SUV and headed for the Hoover building.

Neither he nor Lance knew they were being watched.

TBC…


	3. Adolescent Anxieties

**PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**

**_Chapter Three: Adolescent Anxieties _**

"Do you believe Agent Booth will be cancelling our scheduled activity tonight?" Zack asked Dr. Brenan as they examined the remains.

"I don't know yet, Zack," Brennan answered tilting her head for a better view of the arm bones. "You are right, these bones were definitely broken post mortem. Were you looking forward to tonight?"

"It was Agent Booth's turn to choose, so the activity, though not abhorrent, was not one I will be terribly disappointed to miss."

"What was the activity?" she asked while taking a measurement.

"A football game. I like basketball and he does as well but also enjoys football and hockey. We agreed that a reasonable compromise for some of our outings would be to alternate going to these sporting events."

Brennan nodded, her attention once again taken by the skeleton that she was studying.

"I had been hoping to ask his an advice on something, however," Zack continued hesitantly.

"Oh?" Brennan asked, her eyes not leaving the bones in front of her. "What about?"

"Well, you know I have had lunch on more than one occasion with the girl who volunteers in paleontology on Saturdays," Zack started, biting his lip. "Her name is Naomi."

"Yes," Brennan replied standing to face Zack, having finished with her observations for the moment.

"Well," Zack blushed slightly, "I believe it might be time to move the relationship to a more physical level."

"Why?"

"Because Naomi told me it's time to move the relationship to a more physical level."

"Well, she is a little older than you are, Zack."

"Yes, which is why I need Agent Booth's advice."

Though he would never have believed it, he had actually come to enjoy his outings with the man. He would never forget the first one they had gone on, in fact.

_==Flashback==_

_"I don't know, Agent Booth," Zack told the man, hesitantly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"_

_"C'mon, Zack," Booth said, smirking. "It's just bowling."_

_"Yes, but I have never been very good at sports," Zack admitted uncomfortably._

_"This isn't like hockey, kid," Booth informed him, snorting. "All you do is roll the ball and try'n knock down the pins. It's easy."_

_"It still requires hand-eye coordination," Zack reasoned quietly. "I am afraid mine isn't very good."_

_Booth sighed._ _"Just try it," he insisted. "If you don't get the hang of it after the first game, we'll go grab some pizza and rent a movie. Okay?"_

_Zack nodded, thinking that was more than fair. He had agreed to let Booth pick their first activity, after all. Upon arriving at the bowling alley and getting him shoes and a ball (Booth had his own, of course) they got the game set up and started to play. Zack was up first and nervously approached the lane._

_He swung back with the ball, braced himself, and let it fly…_

_The ball rolled down the center of the lane and swerved just a little bit as it reached the pins—hitting them—and all ten came crashing down!_

_"All right, Zack!" Booth crowed, sounding genuinely pleased. "A strike on the first go—how about that, huh!?"_

_Zack smiled. "I can't believe I did that," he admitted honestly with a touch of awe in his voice.  
_

_"Hey, you've got a natural hook it looks like," Booth said, smiling. "You hit the pocket just right."_

_"And that's good?" Zack asked. _

_Booth nodded, clapping him on the back. "You better believe it, kid," he told him. "Now, it's my turn."_

_Booth bowled a strike as well and the game got under way. Zack didn't always knock down all the pins or even half of them, but Booth assured him that for his first time playing he had done really well. _

_"So," Booth asked him, once the game was over. "Go grab some pizza or play another round?"_

_Zack, to his surprise, found that he had actually enjoyed himself. "Let's play again," he told Booth. "Is that all right?"_

_Booth grinned at him. "Z-Man," he told him, smirking. "I think this is gonna be one hell of a night."_

_For some reason, Zack felt a nice warm feeling inside at the man's words._

_==End Flashback==_

"I can give you advice."

"Advice on what?" Hodgins asked upon entering.

"Getting into a physical relationship with a woman…well girl," Brennan responded openly.

"Oooh! The old sex talk, huh? Maybe I should come back later."

"Sex? Do you really think it might progress to sex?" Zack asked, obviously somewhat pleased at the prospect, though disconcerted as well. He had been concerned enough about the logistics of "getting more physical," but _now_ he really felt he needed to talk to Agent Booth.

"Who's having sex?" Angela asked as she walked in.

"Zack," Hodgins answered, "Or at least he's hoping to. He's asking Dr. Brennan for advice."

"Oh, babe, do you really think that is such a good idea?" Angela asked her best friend skeptically, pulling her off to the side.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Brennan demanded with raised eyebrows.

"He's only fifteen," Angela reminded her in a hushed tone, "and I know the girl he's been eating lunch with. She's eighteen, comes on a little strong, and is _more_ than a little experienced." She paused to let that sink in. "And Zack isn't the only one she's been flirting with around here," the forensic artist added in the barest whisper to be sure only Brennan heard.

"What should I tell him, then?" Brennan asked, frowning. "He wanted to talk to Booth about it—"

"Then tell him you think he should," Angela said. "No offense, Sweetie, but you're not exactly the best person for this particular problem."

Brennan sighed, annoyed yet knowing that what her friend was saying was accurate. "You're right," she admitted, nodding and turning back toward her research assistant. "It would be more logical for Zack to talk to Booth about this," she said loud enough for her voice to carry to the teen's ears.

"It would?" Zack was puzzled by his mentor's change of mind, though he felt somehow relieved as well.

"Yes, it would," Angela assured him. "Where is the B-man anyway?"

"Right here," the FBI Agent answered as he entered with Dr. Saroyan. "So what have I missed?"

"Nothing, as of yet," Brennan assured him. "But Zack was wondering if he might speak privately with you later," Brennan advised Booth, sparing the boy from having to ask in front of everyone.

"Oh, sure thing," Booth agreed raising an eyebrow. What could the kid want? "Sorry, Zack," he told the boy, "but I think we'll have to postpone our game tonight."

"That's okay, Agent Booth," Zack replied. "I anticipated as much."

Booth frowned. The kid could have at least looked a little disappointed.

"So, what have we got?" Cam asked in an attempt to re-focus everyone on the case.

"These bones were broken post mortem."

Cam nodded. "From what I could gather from the little that was left of the tissue, I believe most of her injuries were, and toxicology indicates high levels of the Benzodiazepines Flunitrazepam and Diaxepam," Cam added.

"Wait," Hodgins interjected, "Someone slipped her a rufy with a valium shooter to follow?"

"It certainly looks that way," Cam replied.

"Were the Benzoidiazepine levels high enough to be cause of death?" Brennan asked.

"It's possible, though I don't think so," Cam answered. "The closest I could get on time of death from the degree of autolysis and putrefaction of the tissue was sometime in the last two weeks. Hodgins?"

"This body was eerily free of insect life," Jack replied. "so I can't help you with time of death. I did find resin from the plant Commiphora myrrha, and the oil on the sheet also contained high concentrations of the same plant. There were also slivers of _Thuja plicata – _common name Western Red Cedar."

"In ancient times, myrrh was used as an embalming ointment," Brennan stated thoughtfully.

"Uh, if that was the intent, I don't think it worked so well," Angela noted.

"So, this killing may not have anything to do with the other murders at all," Booth stated, shaking his head.

"It is also possible her death was accidental," Cam suggested. "It would explain the shroud and burial incense, as if someone was trying to atone or something."

"What about the broken bones?" Brennan asked, raising an eyebrow. "Those were no accident. They were deliberately broken."

The others merely looked stumped.

"So, basically," Booth observed with a sigh, "we've got nothing."

The rest of them nodded. Booth shook his head in frustration. It looked like this case was going nowhere fast.

***BONES***BONES***BONES

Lance Sweets was walking back to his dorm after leaving the library. It was late, nearly midnight, but he was still quite wired. He'd always been a night owl of sorts, but he knew he needed to get some rest. Tomorrow was Friday and he had to go visit his mother in the hospital.

_She's getting worse_, he thought with a sad sigh. His parents had adopted him when he was just six years old. They were both older, in their late forties and early fifties, and childless. Sadly, his father was killed in an automobile accident five years ago. Now, his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and—despite having a double mastectomy and heavy treatments of chemo—she was in the final stages.

It always hurt him to visit her, because despite everything she remained upbeat and positive. She was especially proud of him and he intended to do everything he could not to let her down. That was one reason why he'd been at the library so late—he was studying his butt off for his psychology mid-terms that were coming up.

Lance had just made it to his dorm building when he noticed that his shoelace was untied. Bending down to tie it, he heard a loud pop and felt something breeze over his head. The teen glanced up and saw the bullet embed itself into the brick of his dorm building. Then he heard another pop and felt a second bullet whiz past. Somebody was shooting at him!

"Holy—" he gasped, and made a run for the stairs of his building.

A third pop sounded and he felt something strike his backpack, sending him sprawling. Feeling his heart leap into his throat, he rolled until he was in the shrubbery. He had to get away, but how? He had no clue from which direction the bullets were coming!

"Ah man," he muttered. "This sucks!"

Why would anyone be shooting at him? He was just a kid, for heaven sakes!

"A kid with a big mouth," he muttered to himself, suddenly realizing the most likely reason for this bit of unwanted attention. He'd possibly identified a killer this afternoon by talking to the FBI and doing those sketches. This had to do with Dr. Freeman's murder, he was sure of it.

_Wait a minute! _Digging in his jean's pocket, he pulled out the card Agent Booth had given him earlier that day. Upon finding it, he let out a relieved audible breath and got out his cell phone. As he dialed the number, he prayed the man wasn't in bed yet.

"Booth…" a groggy voice spoke on the other end of the line.

"Agent Booth?" Lance asked in a loud whisper not daring to get any louder.

"Yeah, who's this?" Booth demanded, grouchily.

"It's Lance Sweets," Lance replied plaintively. "Please, Agent Booth, you gotta help me!"

"What's wrong?" Booth demanded, his voice immediately alert and there was a sound of a bed creaking as if he'd just sat up.

"Someone's trying to kill me!" Lance exclaimed, letting his fear and anxiety show in his voice. "Somebody just shot at me!"

"Where are you?" Booth asked his concern evident in his tone.

"Just outside my dorm building, in the bushes," Lance replied. "Please, Agent Booth, you gotta do something! I…I don't know what to do...I'm…uh…I'm s-scared," he was in fact very close to tears.

"All right, kid, just stay calm," Booth told him. "Stay where you are—and _don't_ budge. I'll call for back up and I'm on my way."

Lance nodded, though upon reflection he couldn't think why since they were talking on the phone.

"Yeah, sure thing," he responded nervously. "Whatever you say."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Booth promised him. "_Don't_ do anything stupid."

With that, there was a click as the line was disconnected. Lance bit his lip.

_Oh man_, he thought, with a cringe as he heard footsteps pass by his hiding place, _please hurry!_

TBC…


	4. A Long Night

**PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**

_**Chapter Four: A Long Night**_

_This is turning into a long night_, Booth couldn't help but think with a sigh.

It was one thirty in the morning, he'd had only an hour's worth of sleep, and now he was rescuing a fifteen-year-old from an assassination attempt. He'd called for back-up and they'd made it to the campus in record time to find the place already swarming with campus security and local law enforcement. Booth found Lance Sweets right where the boy had said he was, but there was of course no sign of a shooter. There had _definitely _been one, though. The kid hadn't just imagined things.

"We've found two of the slugs," Booth told Lance, who was sitting—shell-shocked, more or less—on the steps of his dorm building. "Couldn't find the third, though."

"That's cuz I did," Lance informed him, pulling a thick book from his backpack. Embedded in the very center of the book was a bullet.

Booth let out a whistle. The kid was lucky. If he hadn't been wearing that backpack…

"Are you sure you're okay?" Booth asked earnestly sitting down beside the boy.

"Besides having the crap scared out of me, you mean?" Lance tried for a smile that ended up more of a grimace. "Yeah, I'm not hurt or anything."

"Maybe we should take you in to the hospital, just have them give you a once over."

"No. I'm fine, really. That'd probably take all night."

Booth nodded his agreement. "Do you think this has something to do with Dr. Freeman?" he asked the boy gently. It didn't seem likely that the fifteen-year-old was caught up in anything else that might warrant a murder attempt, but one never knew.

"What else could it be?" Lance answered with a shrug. "I've got no friends and I sure as hell don't have any enemies. Most of the other college kids steer clear of me because I'm not anywhere near their age."

Booth bit his lip. _Poor kid._

"Look," the Agent began hesitantly, "I think it would be best if you went and stayed somewhere else tonight."

"I don't have anywhere else to go," Lance's voice was little more than a whisper.

"What about your folks?"

"My dad's dead," Lance explained, "and my mom…well, she's, she's in the hospital, undergoing cancer treatment. We don't have any other relatives."

"Oh," Booth couldn't quite believe the extent of this kid's misfortune, life sure had dealt him a raw deal. He supposed there was just one option left. "You'll just have to stay with me, then."

Lance Was completely taken aback by the big man's announcement. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack, kid. Someone tried to kill you tonight. It's my job to see that _that _doesn't happen. You can think of it as being in protective custody—which, essentially, it is."

"Can I, uh, grab some stuff?" Lance asked, hopefully. "A change of clothes,my toothbrush, that sort of stuff?"

"Sure thing," Booth agreed, patting him on the back. "I'll walk up with you to make sure no one's lurking in the hall or in your dorm."

After gathering up some clean clothes, school books, a laptop, and his toothbrush, Lance followed Booth back to his car and they proceeded to head back to his place. The drive was a quiet one. Booth's mind was on the case and Lance was just numb by the inconceivable events of the last twelve hours.

Upon arriving at his apartment, the agent was more than a little surprised to find someone waiting for him in the hall.

"Zack!" Booth exclaimed, staring in disbelief at the fifteen-year-old squint standing awkwardly at his door. "It's two o'clock in the morning! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I needed to speak with you, Agent Booth," Zack reminded him.

Booth groaned, silently. This could _not_ be happening!

"I'm sorry I forgot about that, Zack, but couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?"

Zack bit his lip, looking up at at Booth forlornly with a shake of his head. Booth sighed. "Please tell me Bones at least knows you're here," he said hopefully.

"Dr. Brennan was asleep," Zack explained. "I did not feel it necessary to wake her."

Booth's nostrils flared, and he scowled at the teen. "Did you at least leave a note?" He demanded trying desperately to hold onto what was left of his patience.

"I believed I would be back before she awoke. I did not anticipate you being gone."

"Damn it, Zack!" Booth growled, shaking his head. He felt like throttling the living daylights out of the kid!

"Agent Booth?" Lance spoke up, hesitantly. The kid was dead on his feet, the emotional drain of being shot at having sapped the last of his seemingly unending energy supply. He'd be asleep in a moment regardless of location, though a couch or bed was preferable.

Booth nodded, unlocked the door, and then motioned for the two teenagers to enter. They did so, and he followed them in. Removing his jacket, he hung it on the coat rack and closed the door behind them, taking a deep calming breath.

"Lance," he addressed the dark haired boy. "The guest room's down that hall—third door on the right. Bathroom's right next to it."

Lance nodded rather blankly and went to find his temporary quarters.

Booth glared at Zack. "C'mon," he ordered the young scientist-in-training, "and this had better be good."

Zack followed him into the kitchen where Booth grabbed a can of beer, and cracked it open drinking deeply.

"Do you believe I am ready to engage in sexual intercourse?" Zack asked gravely.

Beer spewed from Booth's mouth and went flying across the kitchen. He stared, flummoxed, at the teenager.

"Say what?!"

"That is what I wished to speak to you about," Zack informed him. "My becoming sexually active."

Booth looked physically pained. "Please, please, _please_ tell me you're kidding?"

Zack shook his head. "No, I am quite serious."

Booth sighed. "That's what I was afraid you'd say?" He grabbed a wash rag and wiped up the beer before going to the kitchen table. The man then pulled out two chairs, turning one around and straddling it.

"Sit down, Zack." He nodded to the other chair. Zack did so, waiting for the agent to speak.

Booth knew that one day he would have to have the old 'sex talk' with his son, Parker, but had never in a million years thought he'd be having it with his partner's teenage lab assistant. Of course, he supposed this was just the type of 'issue' the boy's mother had been referring to when she asked him to be a positive male influence in his life.

"What's brought this on, Zack?"

"For the last several Saturdays, I have been eating lunch with a girl who volunteers in Paleontology at the museum."

"Okay," Booth said, thinking that sounded reasonable, but unsure how a few lunches had led to the current discussion. "And…?"

"Well, she suggested we move our relationship to a more physical level," Zack told him, "I called her this afternoon to ask for clarification, and she confirmed that she meant sexual intercourse."

Booth raised an eyebrow at that. "How old is this girl?" he asked suspiciously.

"Eighteen," Zack answered, "but she and I are the same age intellectually speaking."

"Uh huh," Booth scoffed. "Well, _legally_ she's an adult and you're not. Tell her 'no,' Zack. End of story."

"But why?" The youth wore a puzzled frown. "Do you not think I am ready to engage in sexual intercourse?"

"I wish you'd stop calling it that," Booth said, once again looking pained. "It's sex, Zack. Plain and simple."

"I know," Zack replied, staring at him blankly.

Booth thought a moment how best to explain this to the kid before he spoke.

"Look, Zack, I know at your age—and having been there once I mean I really _know—_that the old libido is in meltdown mode and the fact that a hot, older girl came onto you is a big thrill, but believe me when I say this, you are _not_ ready to have sex. Period. End of discussion."

"But, why? I am physically capable, I assure you."

"Zack, most twelve-year-olds these days are physically capable," Booth responded with a snort. "Sex isn't just a physical thing, buddy, it's an emotional thing and a mental thing, too."

"Really?" Zack asked, his brow creasing. "I thought it was exclusively physical in nature. Male arousal is a reflex response initiated by visual, olfactory, imaginative, or physical stimuli, which in turn activates a spinal reflex mechanism. Hormones, particularly testosterone, play an integral role in this process."

Booth sighed. Obviously the kid had been talking to Bones. He held up his hand so the young genius would not continue his clinical lecture on the physiology of the human sexual response.

"First of all, there's a lot more to it," he advised the teen assertively, "and if you _are_ going to have sex you really need to know the person you're going to be doing it with—and a few Saturday lunch dates _ain't_ gonna cut it, pal. Secondly, there should be something more between the two of you than just raging hormones and whatever. Sex can be just that, Zack—pure, unadulterated _lust_. Or it can be beautiful love making."

"Dr. Brennan says love isn't real. That it is simply a chemical reaction in the brain that—"

Booth reached to put a hand over his mouth.

"I know you worship the ground Bones walks on, Zack, but this time she's wrong, and one day she's going to see she's wrong. Love is a very real thing, and the person you give your body to the first time should be somebody you truly, deeply love. A lot of guys don't do that—I know _I_ certainly didn't—and they end up getting burned by it. Trust me on this, okay?"

Zack nodded. "How will I know when I _am_ ready, though?"

Booth smirked. "Believe me, you'll know."

Zack sat quietly a moment and then stood up. "Thank you for the advice and taking the time to talk," he stated politely. "I'll be going now." He turned and started for the door.

Booth stood up as well, reaching to grab the boy's shoulder. "Hold it," he said, firmly. "Where do you think you're going?"

Zack turned back to Booth with a puzzled frown. "Back to Dr. Brennan's apartment, of course," he replied, clearly confused. Where else would he be going, after all?

Booth shook his head, sternly. "I don't think so. The only place you're going is to my couch. I'm not about to let you traipse across the city at two thirty in the morning by yourself."

"I came over here by myself," Zack reminded him. "I was all right, then."

"That was _dangerous_, Zack," Booth scolded glowering fiercely at the teen, "and I better _not_ hear you doing it ever again or so help me..."

Zack swallowed. Booth had never been stern with him before…annoyed, yes, stern no.

"Very well," he responded reluctantly. "But won't Dr. Brennan be worried when she wakes up and I am not there?"

"Uh huh," Booth said, pointedly. "That's why you _always _leave a note, Zack."

"Oh," Zack replied, looking sheepish.

"Yeah, oh," Booth said, shaking his head. "C'mon."

Leading the kid out to the living room, he grabbed a blanket off the chair and handed it to him. Zack took it, kicked off his shoes, and lay down on the couch. He closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly. Booth smiled wanly, and heaved a big sigh. Turning out the lights, he walked down the hall to check on Lance.

The curly haired youth lay on the bed sound asleep. He hadn't even bothered to take off his shoes. Booth pulled them off for the kid, and then tugged the cover up over him.

"Kids," he muttered as he closed the door, but there was a smile on his face.

Letting out a yawn, he decided it was finally time to hit the hay himself.

***BONES***BONES***BONES

The next morning, Booth awoke at his usual time, despite the lack of sleep, and got up to take his morning shower. The only problem was, he found his bathroom occupied.

Knocking, he demanded, "Who's in there?!"

"It's me, Agent Booth," Zack called from within.

Booth scowled at the closed door.

"What the hell are you doin' in _my _bathroom, Zack? Why not use the hall bathroom?"

"Lance is using that one, but I am certain that he is almost done with it."

Booth grumbled and uttered a few choice expletives under his breath. Grabbing a clean pair of briefs and some socks, he then headed down the hall. He pounded on the bathroom door, yelling, "Hey, kid! You about done in there?"

The door swung open and a bright eyed and refreshed looking Lance Sweets stepped out. His hair was still wet from his shower and his brown curls were plastered all over his head, making the FBI agent wonder if the boy owned a comb.

"Sure thing, Agent Booth," he said with a cheerful smile, seemingly recovered from last night's traumatic events. "It's all yours."

Booth shook his head as he watched the boy head down the hall toward the kitchen. That kid could get whiplash, the way he bounced from one emotion to another. He supposed he should be relieved as he'd been worried about having a traumatized teen on his hands but apparently nothing kept Lance Sweets down for long. The man's thoughts were interrupted when Zack emerged from his bedroom.

"I don't think there's any hot water left, Agent Booth," the boy informed him as he passed by, also on his way to the kitchen. Booth muttered curses upon both teenagers' heads. He was _not_ a morning person.

After one very cold shower, which _did serve to _wake him up a bit at least, Booth dressed and made his way to the kitchen to find the two teens in a [what else?] theoretical debate.

"No way, man," Lance was telling Zack as the agent entered and headed immediately for the coffee pot, which neither teen had bothered to start, he noticed, though they had not had any compunction about ransacking his kitchen for food and helping themselves.

"Psychology is definitely the better science."

"How can it be when it technically isn't even a science?" Zack countered, taking a bite of his Coco Puffs (the only cereal Booth currently had in stock).

"It's the study of human behavior and thinking," Lance reminded him. "A science is defined as being-"

"The study of things," Booth interjected, remembering high school biology class. "Right?"

"That is correct," Zack told him, "but psychology is a soft science, one that does not deal with rational thinking but depends on the often illogical behaviors of humans. Forensic anthropology is empirical...a pure science...and much more effective."

Lance snorted. "Studying live people is way cooler than studying dead bones," he argued stubbornly.

"Only in the opinion of someone with just _average_ intellect." Zack's statement indicated that he was dubious whether Lance's intelligence was even average, "As well as limited capacity for the higher level thinking tasks required for the true sciences."

Lance's nostrils flared out—Booth didn't have to be a shrink to know what that meant—and he opened his mouth to make a scathing reply.

"Hey! Frick and Frack," the FBI Agent interrupted, before things could escalate. "Cool it. I haven't had my mug-a-joe this morning and trust me, you _don't _want me pissed off right now."

The two boys glared at each other, but heeded the man's warning, each returning his attention to his cereal bowl.

Booth smirked. Well, how about _that_? It seemed a veiled threat really _did_ go a long way. He got his 'mug-a-joe' and sat down at the table beside the two boys. Just then, his cell phone rang.

"Booth," Brennan's voice sounded oddly frantic. "Zack is missing!"

"No, he's not," Booth told her calmly as he glared at the kid in question, realizing he should have at least texted his partner before succumbing to exhaustion earlier this morning.

"He is not in his room and his bed has not been slept in," she said in exasperation, and Booth could just see the scowl on her face for his "illogical," rebuttal.

"That's because he decided to come to my apartment at two o'clock in the morning. Your boy genius is currently sitting at my kitchen table in blue jeans and a t-shirt eating Coco Puffs."

"Why would he have come there?"

"He needed to have a man to man talk with me about some girl. Apparently, he felt it couldn't wait 'til this morning."

"Oh," Bones was clearly relieved. "Very well, then. Will you be dropping him off at the lab or should I pick him up on my way?"

"He and I'll meet you there, but you might want to grab him a change of clothes. We'll be heading out in just a minute."

"Alright, I'll see you both, then. Please, tell him that if he is going to make a habit of this then it would be prudent to leave some form of a message telling me where he is going."

In other words, leave a note. Booth smirked.

"I already did," he assured her. "I promised horrible physical torture if he ever did it again."

"You did?" Bones asked, sounding amused. "Like what?"

Booth's lips curved upward as he noted the confused look on Zack's face.

"Like making him listen to Hodgins explain all his 'bug' talk for two or three hours or watching 'Doogey Howser' reruns."

"Who's Doogey Howser?" Zack and Lance asked at the same time, echoed by Bones on the phone.

Booth just rolled his eyes. "Never mind. See you in a bit. Bye, Bones."

"You didn't promise torture," Zack reminded the man, puzzled.

"It was implied," Booth told him, firmly. "As it is, I have half a mind to ground you."

"I do not live with you, though," Zack pointed out logically, "and I have never been grounded before."

"Go figure," Lance snorted, rolling his eyes.

Booth scowled at the young psychology student who found his cereal very interesting all of a sudden. Returning his attention to the teenage squint, he fixed the boy with an intimidating glare, "Trust me, Zack, I _can_. And there's always a first time for everything. Just promise me the next time you want to talk, you'll call me or wait 'til the next morning. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Great," Booth said, draining the last of his coffee. "You done?"

Zack finished the rest of the milk from his cereal bowl and nodded.

"Let's hit the road, then," Booth suggested, taking both his mug and the kid's bowl to the sink. "We've got a murder to solve."

"Um..." Lance muttered, also putting his bowl in the sink. "Can you drop me off somewhere first?"

Booth shook his head. "Not going to happen. The only place you're going to be today is right here with the door locked."

"Please, Agent Booth," Lance pleaded, looking aggreived. "It's very important. Trust me."

"I'm sorry, Lance," Booth replied with a shake of his head as he grabbed his jacket, "but last night you were almost killed. You leave this apartment and go some place the killer is liable to know about and you're as good as dead. I am _not _going to let that happen."

Lance bit his lip. He knew Booth was right, but his mom would worry if he didn't visit her today. Of course, what Booth didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"All right," he acquiesed, making a show of his disappointment, "I'll stay here." He crossed his fingers behind his back so technically he wasn't lying. At least, that's what he told his guilty conscious anyway.

Booth narrowed his eyes at the kid. "I mean it, Lance. I find out otherwise and…"

Lance swallowed. "And?" he asked, looking speculatively at the agent and wondering if he really wanted to hear the answer.

"Let's put it this way, kid," Booth replied, a rather frightening grin on his face. "You'd better hope the killer finds you before I do."

"Uh, right," Lance laughed nervously. "Whatever you say. I'll be right here. Studying for midterms and raiding your fridge."

Booth gave a satisfied nod. "There sould be sanwich fixings and there's leftover pizza, but stay out of my beer," he warned. "Don't open the door for anyone and call me if you need anything. Let's go, Zack."

The other teenager followed the agent out the door. Lance went to the window and watched as they climbed into Booth's SUV. He glanced at his watch after they had pulled out and considered how long it would take to get to the hospital. The ride with Booth last night had probably taken a bit over twenty minutes, and it was roughly the same distance to the hospital. Of course public transportation always took considerably longer.

Still, he should have plenty of time to get there and back before Booth returned and if the agent called…well, he could always say that he had fallen asleep, was listening to his iPod, or was using the bathroom. A guy _did _have to use the bathroom every once in a while, right? Deciding it was worth the risk, he grabbed his jacket and left the apartment, heading for the nearest bus stop.

Thirty minutes later, Booth turned the key in his apartment door and stepped in. He'd realized, after dropping Zack at the Jeffersonian, that he'd left his case notes at home. The FBI agent scanned the quiet apartment with a frown.

"Lance?" he called out. Maybe the kid was in the bathroom or had decided to lay back down. A quick look around indicated that both places were empty as was the rest of the apartment.

"That little…" Booth muttered, angrily. "I'm so gonna kill him!"

He started pacing, wondering where the kid would go. The University? Nah, too obvious…the kid knew the killer could find him there. Lance had said that morning he had somewhere to go that was very important. But where? Their conversation about the kid's folks sprang to mind. He'd said his dad was dead and his mom was…

Booth smiled.

"Got'cha," he said, heading for the door, his case notes forgotten again. He got in his SUV and headed for the hospital closest to the University. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell Mrs. Sweets, but he did know this. Her son was in a world of trouble.

Big trouble...

TBC...


	5. A Sweet Mother

**PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS (And just as a reminder...one of those warnings was that this story will contain corporal punishment..if you don't like or approve, turn back now.)**

_**Chapter Five: A Sweet Mother**_

Georgetown University Hospital was a teaching and research facility affiliated with Georgetown University Medical School. Not only did the non-profit institution provide one of the largest, most geographically diverse, and fully integrated healthcare and delivery networks in the area, it housed the internationally known Lombardi Comprehensive Cancer Center. It was the perfect place for his mother to receive treatment as he attended college. At least, Lance had thought so up to this point.

_I had no idea it would take an hour and half to get through the city._

Lance had taken a bus to the subway station. The subway had been a nightmare, and then they apparently had picked today of all days to do some repairs.

_I sure hope Agent Booth is extremely busy today._

Entering his mother's hospital room, the fifteen-year-old psychology student paused in mid-step. Sitting, talking quietly to his mother, was none other than the very last person he had wanted to see at that moment: Special Agent Seeley Booth.

How the hell had he gotten there? How the hell had he even known where to look? And how the hell had—?

"There you are, Lance," his mother said, smiling at him. "Agent Booth and I were just talking about you."

Lance glared at Booth. "You were, Mom?" he asked, innocently. "About what, exactly?"

"Oh, you know," Booth said with a shrug, his tone so calm it was actually frightening. "This and that."

Lance swallowed. The look the FBI agent was sending him did _not_ bode well. He'd worry about that later, though. His mother wasn't looking too happy with him, either, and _that_ was the more pressing matter.

"Mom," he said, focusing on her. "I can explain…"

"Explain what, dear?" she asked him, just a little too sweetly for his comfort. "How you pointedly ignored Agent Booth's orders this morning by coming here? Or why I had to hear that my son's life was in danger from an almost perfect stranger? Or perhaps why my teenage son decided it was a good idea to travel across town alone when someone was shooting at him just last night?"

Lance winced. Yep, his mom was pissed all right. Normally, she was sweet and gentle as a lamb, but she could be quite the lion when she wanted to be. Her voice might be soft, but she could dress a boy down more handily than a boot camp drill instructor.

Lance sighed, his eyes shooting daggers at Booth. "I didn't want her to know," he expressed heatedly. "You had no right—"

"I had every right," Booth contradicted sharply his dark eyes clearly showing his displeasure with the teen. "You don't think the shooter could find you here? Because he _could_…and then you would have been putting not only yourself but your mother in _unnecessary_ danger!"

"Agent Booth is quite right, son. I would have understood you not visiting this week if you'd simply called and told me what was going on."

"But, Mom, I didn't want to worry you."

"Son, I'm dying," Mrs. Sweets told him, bluntly. "I can't _stop_ worrying about you!"

"C'mon, Mom, you don't know that. The doctors -"

"Have done everything they can for me," Mrs. Sweets reminded him. "I know you don't want to think about it, but it's the truth and its time you started to accept it."

Booth cleared his throat, starting to rise from his seat.

"Ma'am, why don't I just leave you two alone," He started to say, but Mrs. Sweets shook her head.

"That's quite all right, Agent Booth. This isn't something I'm just now dealing with…I've been slowly dying for a year."

Lance blinked back tears. "Mom," he choked, coming over and sitting on the edge of her bed. "Please…"

Mrs. Sweets smiled at him, reaching out to cup his cheek with her frail hand.

"You are a smart boy, Lance," she lectured mildly, "and you are also very stubborn…and while stubbornness can beat out a lot of things, son, it _can't_ beat death. And that's okay. I've made my peace with the Lord, and I'm ready to join your father in heaven."

"But," Lance told her, sniffing. "I'm _not_ ready for you to, Mom."

"I know that, sweetheart," Mrs. Sweets replied tenderly, "which is why you risked your life coming here today—something I should be very cross with you about. My life no longer matters—"

"It matters to me!" Lance insisted obstinately.

"—but _yours_ does," Mrs. Sweets finished, firmly. "Agent Booth told you to stay put and that is exactly what you should have done."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Lance relented, his voice just above a whisper.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Mrs. Sweets informed him with an edge to her soft voice, "But I am sure you and Agent Booth will discuss that later."

"Yes, Ma'am," Booth assured her, giving the kid a pointed look. "We certainly will."

Mrs. Sweets smiled at that, even as her son winced.

"I like you, Agent Booth. Are you by any chance a parent?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Booth responded with a big smile. "My son, Parker, will be five soon."

"Ah," Mrs. Sweets replied almost wistfully. "Aren't they so adorable at that age?"

"Yes, Ma'am, and quite the handful."

"Well, I've got news for you, it doesn't get any easier," the elderly lady chuckled. "Lance, dear, will you do something for me?"

"Anything, Mom," Lance spoke up, quickly. He wanted to get back in her good graces as soon as possible.

"Will you run down to the cafeteria and get me something to drink?" she asked him, and then glanced at Booth. "Will that be all right?"

"Sure, I've got a man waiting who'll be happy to go with him."

Lance groaned. "A bodyguard! I don't need a shadow, man!"

"Yes, Lance," his mother contradicted him. "You do. Now, please, go."

Lance exhaled noisily through his nose but acquiesced. "I'll be right back, Mom," he said, kissing her cheek. With one last glare at Booth, he exited the room.

Booth took out his phone and signaled his man to be on the look out for the kid and to follow him.

"Just how much danger is my son actually in, Agent Booth?" Mrs. Sweets asked the man directly.

Booth was impressed by the inner strength evidenced by Lance's mother. Though he didn't want to upset the ailing woman, neither did he want to lie to her, so he decided on the truth.

"Quite a bit, Ma'am. We think your son may have very well identified a killer, and that puts him in a great deal of danger."

Mrs. Sweets sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a moment and repressing a shudder.

"Lance is a good boy," she said upon reopening them, "but he is still at an age where he just doesn't think things through at times."

"Yes, Ma'am," Booth agreed, whole-heartedly. The kid certainly hadn't thought things through today. That was for sure.

"Lance came to me and my late husband later in life. We adopted him when he was six, and that was just nine years ago."

"Ah," Booth intoned, gaining some understanding of the situation.

"His childhood, before he came to us, from what we were told," she continued, swallowing slightly. "Well, it was _not_ pleasant."

"I see," Booth responded quietly. _He could relate to that._

"He has scars," Mrs. Sweets went on. "Physical ones _and_ emotional ones, and the fact that he is losing me, his only surviving parent, is only adding to those scars. His studies have allowed him not just a means of channeling his interests and intellect, but something to focus on during this extremely difficult time in his life. Now his favorite instructor has been murdered and his own life is in danger, as if he didn't have enough heartache in his young life."

Booth nodded, not sure what he should say. _Poor kid._

Mrs. Sweets paused, taken with her own ruminations. Finally, she continued, but her voice was faint as if she were just thinking aloud. "Georgetown only allowed Lance to enroll because they knew I would be near," she said softly, her eyes meeting Booth's, "but once I am gone…well, I just don't know."

"Have you made any arrangements?" he asked uncomfortably.

"We have no family," the frail woman lamented. "Lance has said he'd like to apply for emancipation rights," Mrs. Sweets shook her head, "and while I know he would be capable in some respects…I do not feel that is the best course of action for him to take. Nor do I know if it would be granted at his young age."

Booth nodded. That kid was by no means ready to take care of himself.

"Please forgive my rambling, Agent Booth. I just wanted to make you aware of Lance's situation, but I am afraid it has been some time since I have had someone to talk to about Lance. I didn't mean to go on and on. I just worry about my little boy."

"Not at all, Ma'am. I understand. If there's anything that I can do, please let me know."

"Just keep Lance safe," the gentle woman answered evenly, meeting and holding his gaze, her unspoken plea obvious to the FBI Agent.

"I will," he stated simply but the weight of the promise in those two words could be seen in the depths of his brown eyes.

"Thank you," the woman responded, lying back on her pillow with a sad smile. "You mentioned protective custody?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"You have my full cooperation. Whatever you need. I'll sign papers or whatever it takes, just take care of my son, Agent Booth."

Just then, Lance reentered with a large jug. "I got you tea, Mom. Is that all right?"

Mrs. Sweets nodded at the teen, trying not to laugh at the fact that he'd brought her not a single cup of her favorite beverage but an entire container. Ever the over achiever, that was Lance. "Yes, dear, that is just perfect. Thank you."

She glanced at Booth with a knowing smile playing at her lips. "I think you and Agent Booth have some things to discuss now, dear," she suggested gently.

Booth nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," he agreed, standing up. "We certainly do. We should probably be going."

"But I wanted…" Lance started to say, glancing at his mom.

"Go on, dear," she told him sweetly. "I'll see you in a few days, assuming it is _safe_ for you to visit and you have cleared it with Agent Booth, whom I am quite certain you will heed and treat with the utmost respect."

Lance grimaced. Yep, his mom really did know how to stick it to him at times.

He sighed. "Bye, Mom," he said, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I love you."

"I love you too, dear," Mrs. Sweets responded, "And I'm only a phone call away if you need to talk. Be careful and safe, and for goodness sakes behave yourself."

Lance blushed crimson.

"I'll take good care of him, Ma'am," Booth assured the woman. "We're going to catch whoever is after him. I promise."

"I know you will, Agent Booth," Mrs. Sweets stated her voice full of calm confidence. "Thank you."

Booth nodded, and then guided Lance from the room.

Mrs. Sweets smiled, glancing heavenward. _Lord, you've just sent me the answer to my prayers!_

***BONES***BONES***BONES

"So, now what happens?" Lance asked Booth as they exited the hospital.

Booth didn't answer the teen, but instead held a firm grip on the boy's arm and kept them moving toward his SUV. Once they were there, he spun the teenager around and gave him a sharp _pop_ to the seat of his jeans with his open palm.

Lance yelped at the sting the swat caused, surprised more than pained by it.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, indignantly. "What the hell was that, man?!"

Booth spun him back around, leveling him with a death glare and pointing a reproving finger at him.

"Don't you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again," he growled angrily. "That was a _warning_, kid. There's plenty more where it came from, trust me."

Lance gulped. "Uh, okay," he said, hesitantly. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry…okay?"

"No, it's not okay," Booth snapped furiously. "Now, get in."

He opened the passenger side door for the kid. Lance climbed in, wincing a little as his butt made contact with the leather. The swat hadn't hurt _that_ much, but it _had_ left an impression. Lance pulled his seatbelt into place as Booth slammed the door shut and then got in the driver's seat. Starting the SUV, the FBI agent pulled out of the hospital and headed for the Jeffersonian. He didn't speak for several minutes, trying to decide what to say.

"From this point on, Lance," Booth informed the kid grimly. "You can just consider yourself grounded."

"Say what?" Lance asked, wide-eyed. "You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can," Booth asserted. His resolve to protect the kid had only intensified after meeting the boy's mother. "I get why you wanted to see your mom but you damn well could have gotten yourself killed today. You are in _my_ protective custody and you _are_ a minor. From this point on, you don't leave my side for any reason unless absolutely necessary…and even then you'll have a babysitter."

Lance grimaced at the term 'babysitter'. He was way too old be treated this way.

"I've got classes," he snarled at the man, his own temper flaring.

"We'll call the university and set something up so you don't fall behind," Booth advised, his jaw set resolutely, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Your studies aren't worth your life."

"This sucks," Lance complained very close to pouting. "It's not fair!"

"Would you prefer being filled full of lead?" Booth demanded bluntly.

"No," Lance answered, definitely pouting this time. "But this still sucks!"

"Life's tough, kid," Booth told him, harshly. "You just got to grow a pair and deal with it."

"I've already got a pair," Lance retorted with an irritated glower. "Do you?"

Booth smirked at that, despite his sour mood. Oh yeah, this kid was really something!

"We are so _not_ going there," he responded, curbing a grin. "That little stunt you pulled today only proves you need someone watching you're butt twenty-four seven, pal, and that someone is me. Get used to it."

"Bastard," Lance muttered, looking in the opposite direction.

"I meant what I said," Booth warned him solemnly. "There are plenty more where that one swat came from."

"I'm not five, you know," Lance countered in full sulk.

"So?" Booth asked raising an eyebrow. He'd given Mrs. Sweets his word he would keep her son safe and he planned on doing that whether the kid liked his methods or not. "Make no mistake, kid. Five or fifteen—I _can_ spank your butt, wash your mouth out with soap, _and_ send you to your room. And I _will_, too, if you give me a reason. So, lose the attitude."

Lance gulped. Something told him Booth was telling him the truth. Though part of him was frustrated with what he considered unfair treatment, and he felt certain that the FBI would not condone Booth's threats, the teen knew that his mother had placed her trust in Agent Booth. If he were honest, he had to admit that he owed Booth. Besides hadn't his mom _just _told him to listen to the man?

"Yes, Sir," he quietly conceded. "I'm sorry."

Booth looked over at the kid, trying to gage his sincerity. The young college student had been through a lot and though part of him believed that the boy deserved a swift kick in the butt, he also thought maybe he should cut the kid some slack. If anyone deserved a break, it was Lance.

"Apology accepted." He reached over to ruffle the boy's hair.

Lance snorted and rolled his eyes at that, but didn't say anything.

Booth's phone rang. "Booth," the agent answered and then listened attentively. "You're kiddin' me? How about the composites from Lance's descriptions? Bingo! I knew this was mob related. Thanks Angela." The FBI made another quick phone call to Caroline Julian, his friend as well as a Prosecutor from the U.S. Attorney's Office. Then turned to Lance.

"Did you know that Dr. Freeman's real name was Theresa Morelli?"

Shaking his head and looking confused Lance answered, "No, but why would she change her name?"

"Maybe because the Morelli family is highly connected with a number of illicit activities based out of Boston."

Lance whistled. Then he looked quizzically over at Booth, "And does Theresa Morelli have a close relative named Luka?"

The agent smiled at the kid's quick mind. "A brother."

***Bones***Bones***Bones

They arrived at the Jeffersonian and headed inside to find Bones, but instead found two of her squints in a heated debated.

"C'mon, Zack," Hodgins said, grinning. "You know I'm right. Just admit it."

"I admit nothing," Zack countered, glaring, "except that you are an asshole conspiracy nut whereas _I_ am Dr. Brennan's assistant!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold the phone," Booth let out a shrill whistle. "What the hell is going on here? And where's Bones?"

"In her office," Hodgins informed the other man, glaring at him. "I thought you were supposed to be teaching this kid stuff, Booth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You should teach him to respect his elders," Hodgins snorted, and then turned to storm off.

Zack had a smug look on his face, as if he'd won some great victory.

"Lose the smirk," Booth ordered, pinning the teen with a fierce look. "What was that about, Zack?"

"Nothing," Zack said, though he didn't quite meet the agent's unrelenting gaze.

"Zachary Uriah Addy!" Booth growled, in full pissed off father mode now. "I've had about as much teenage BS as I'm going to take for one day! Start talking. _Now_."

"I'd do what he said, man," Lance advised, wincing. "He's kinda pissed at the moment."

Zack frowned, wanting to tell Lance to stay out of it but an impatient exhalation from Booth made the boy realize that answering the agent was more imperative. "Hodgins disagreed with me about something concerning the bones Dr. Brennan is having me study," Zack explained. "He said I…_missed_…something."

"Did you?" Booth asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Zack answered immediately with indignation.

Booth's scowl deepened.

"That is," Zack continued uneasily. "I don't think I did…"

"But you're not sure?" Booth queried his brows drawn almost together. "So instead of seeing if Hodgins was right you call him an 'asshole conspiracy nut' to his face?"

"He is one," Zack responded, sourly. "And I fail to see the connection…"

Booth had to remind himself that beating up teenaged kids was severely frowned upon by the FBI.

"Zack, just go recheck what you were doing," Booth firmly ordered.

"But—" Zack started to protest.

"That _wasn't_ a request, Mr. Addy," Booth snapped more than a little annoyed. "_Do_ it!"

Zack frowned, but wisely decided to do as he was told.

"Harsh much?" Lance asked with a sniff.

"Don't start," Booth commanded in a clipped tone edged with steel. "C'mon." He headed for Bone's office and Lance followed.

"Bones, can you do me a favor?" he asked her as they entered.

Brennan glanced up at him. "Why were you yelling at Zack?" she inquired with a frown.

"He was being a pain in the butt," Booth answered with a glare. "I have half a mind to give him one in his."

"I don't know what that means," she replied seriously.

"Trust me," Lance said, glancing at Booth wearily. "You don't want to."

"Can it," Booth told him firmly. "Bones, I need Lance to stay here for a little while."

"Why can he not stay with you?" Brennan inquired with a puzzled look.

"Because I have to go have a talk with the head of one of the leading crime families in this city about the murders," Booth informed her.

"You talked to Angela," Brennan noted, "But I should - "

"No, Bones. You aren't going to tag along, that is so _not_ happening," Booth told her definitively.

Brennan's nostrils flared and he knew she was getting ready to spout some logical argument as to why she should be going. He held up a hand to forestall any protests.

"Save it, Bones," he said with determination. "The last time we had a case involving the mob I nearly got blown up and you nearly had your eyes gouged out. Remember?"

"Vividly," she replied. "Fine. I'll stay here, and Lance is welcome to remain here, as well."

"Great," Booth said, rubbing his hands together. He turned to the kid. "Sit," he ordered, pointing to Brennan's couch. "And don't move a muscle."

The kid sat, huffing as he did so. "How long are you going to be?" he wanted to know.

"Not sure," Booth said, shrugging. "Just so you know, I'll be informing the security guys to keep an eye out on the exits. You try to leave and they'll have orders to handcuff you to something."

"Jeeze, I make one little mistake…" Lance muttered, dourly.

"I heard that," Booth told the teen, the warning evident in his tone, as he and Brennan exited the office. "Thanks, Bones. I appreciate it. Talk to Zack, by the way."

"Why?" Brennan asked, frowning.

"He's got to learn to respect those with more experience than himself," Booth explained seriously.

"He respects me and Cam," Brennan informed her partner calmly.

"Because you're both his bosses and he knows that," Booth observed.

"He respects you," Brennan pointed out, still not certain what he was getting at.

"That's cuz he's afraid I'll kick his butt if he pisses me off bad enough," Booth replied with a smirk. "It's everybody else in the lab—like Hodgins and Angela—that I'm referring to."

"I don't understand," Brennan admitted honestly.

"Bones," Booth said, sighing. "He called Hodgins an 'asshole conspiracy nut' right to his face…just because the bug-man disagreed with him on something."

"I see," Brennan said, "and you felt this was inappropriate?"

"It _was_ inappropriate, Bones," Booth insisted. "He needs to see that. Either you talk to him…or _I_ will."

Brennan couldn't be sure, but the way that sounded if _Booth_ had to speak with her assistant it would not be a pleasant conversation for the boy.

"I'll talk to him," she promised. "Now, go. We still have a murder to solve."

"I'm all over it, Bones," he answered and then turned to head for the exit.

It was time to start playing hardball.

TBC…


	6. Butting Heads

**PLEASE SEE CHAPTER ONE FOR WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS**

_**Chapter Six: Butting Heads**_

Not fifteen minutes after Booth had left, Lance was bored. He'd left his backpack with his books and laptop at Booth's because he didn't want to lug them all the way to the hospital and back. Just as well, he was too restless to sit and study for midterms anyway.

Glancing around Dr. Brennan's office, he had to admit there was actually quite a lot there that told him what kind of person she was. For the next few minutes he made a game of trying to profile the forensic anthropologist.

He smiled. "I should so do my thesis on her and Booth," he said, chuckling. Of course, he'd have to do it without them knowing it, but that shouldn't be too difficult.

Feeling "nature's call" he got up and started out of the office.

"Going somewhere?" Dr. Camille Saroyan, the head of the Forensic Division, asked him curiously.

"Bathroom," Lance said, glancing around. "Uh…where is it?"

Cam smiled. He seemed like a nice kid. Booth usually was a very good judge of character.

"Over there," she told him, pointing.

"Thanks?"

After relieving his bladder, he restlessly wandered, looking about the lab. Reaching the bone room, he found Zack and Dr. Brennan examining a set of human remains, and having that discussion Booth had suggested.

"It seems I…missed…something," Zack was telling the forensic anthropologist. "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan."

"You are still learning, Zack. Mistakes are not uncommon at this stage. The point is to learn from them."

"Yes, of course," Zack said, but it was clear he was still upset with himself.

"What has this new evidence told us?" Dr. Brennan asked him pointedly.

"These fractures in the second cervical vertebrae, here," Zack indicated the region, "and here, were not post mortem injuries and would most likely have resulted in a fatal injury to the cerebral spinal chord."

"Very good, Zack." Dr. Brennan flashed a rare smile. "We now have the most probable cause of death. Now we need to determine what might have caused the damage to those vertebrae."

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan," Zack replied, smiling brightly.

Lance rolled his eyes. Could he be any more of a brownnoser?

"I understand you and Dr. Hodgins had a disagreement earlier," Dr. Brennan commented, glancing at her assistant seriously.

Zack looked uneasy. "He suggested I might have made a mistake," Zack admitted quietly, though his next words were defiant. "His expertise is in bugs and slime—not bones."

"Be that as it may, Zack, Jack has been a scientist working in this setting far longer than you. He has learned to be observant, even in things that are not directly related to his field, which is what all good scientists should do. If he tells you something, he is doing so to help further your education, not berate or mock you."

"You are saying he deserves my respect," Zack stated softly.

"Yes, he does, and so does Angela. Without her facial reconstructions our jobs would be much harder."

"I will try to remember that in the future, Dr. Brennan."

It was clear the young genius was not only contrite but embarrassed and more than a little hurt to be reprimanded. Lance snorted. Typical teacher's pet. Dr. Brennan turned to exit the room, and the boy quickly ducked out of sight. Once she was gone he entered the room, unable to contain the smirk on his face when he considered the other teen's smug attitude from this morning.

"So," he said, raising an eyebrow. "What's up?"

Zack refused to look at him, keeping his eyes glued to the bones in front of him.

"I thought you were supposed to stay in Dr. Brennan's office," Zack remarked, his jaw tightening.

Lance grinned, stepping closer. "Booth told me I couldn't leave the lab. He said nothing about staying only in the office." Well actually the agent had told him not to move a muscle but the teen was relatively certain the implication was for him not to leave the lab.

"Then, can't you go find someone else to bug?" Zack asked, clearly irritated.

"Speaking of bugs...what was up with you calling that guy an asshole conspiracy nutcase?"

"Hodgins is paranoid. He believes in government conspiracies around every corner."

"Ah, I guess it just really ticks you off then, huh? That he was right and you were wrong? Especially since _you're the_ genius and all."

Zack glared at him. "I made a minor…miscalculation," he insisted. "Nothing more."

"Uh huh," Lance said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dr. Brennan didn't think it was very 'minor'. Wonder if she is concerned if _you_ have a limited capacity for the higher level thinking tasks required for the true hard sciences," Lance needled by parroting Zack's words from earlier that morning.

Zack's face turned red. "I have _work_ to do."

"Yeah, kissing Brennan's ass must take all your time," Lance countered.

Zack spun around and punched Lance in the jaw, causing him to stumble back.

That was all it took, and the fight was on. Lance tackled Zack and the two teenagers began rolling around on the floor like a pair of scrapping puppies. It wasn't much of a fight, per se, as neither boy was all that versed in the art of combat, but they still managed to each get in a few good punches and jabs.

***BONES***BONES***BONES

Booth had been on his way back to the FBI building, when Caroline Julian had phoned to say that she had received a call from Mr. Episcopo's lawyer, the very crime boss Booth was on his way to question, due to certain connections with the Morelli family. Apparently the man's son had been in an accident. They would be coming in tomorrow for the interview.

"How about the warrant?"

"You _are_ kidding me, right? Come back to me with some actual evidence, even a reasonable theory or, oh, here's a thought – MOTIVE," Caroline groused.

"This has got mob fingerprints all over it," Booth insisted.

"Then bring me those fingerprints, Agent Booth, and stop snapping at me like a little mongrel," was the Prosecuting Attorney's sharp retort.

"Damn it," he swore, hanging up his phone and doing a quick U-turn to head back to the Jeffersonian.

He was not in a very good mood as he made his way into the lab.

"That was fast," Cam noted, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Classic mob," Booth grumbled, "When there's blood in the water the sharks start to circle." At Cam's baffled look the agent explained, "They've already got the lawyer's involved and are stonewalling. Where's Bones?"

"In her office," Cam informed him, and he headed past her.

"Bones," he said briskly as he walked into his partner's office. "Please tell me you've found something."

"Dr. Freeman sustained cervical injuries, specifically fractures to the C2 vertebrae, prior to her death which are potentially the cause of death."

"So first she was drugged and then someone broke her neck. That still doesn't help us much," Booth complained, slapping his hand down on her desk. "Damn this case!"

"You can't take it personally, Booth," Bones reminded him. "It only makes it worse."

"Yeah," he said, sighing. "You're right, Bones, as usual. Where's the kid?"

"I believe he's with Zack, in the bone room."

Booth nodded, and headed that way. He'd grab the kid and then they'd go nab a bite to eat. He was tired and hungry and needed some perspective. Taking a step back was probably a good idea. Unfortunately, what he found in the bone room in no way improved his mood or outlook. Lance and Zack were in the midst of a free-for-all brawl on the floor.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"

Zack and Lance froze, looking up to find Booth standing in the doorway.

And he did _not_ look happy.

Each boy scurried to his feet, casting a look at the other and then back at the irate FBI agent. Then both teens ducked their heads, seemingly finding something immensely interesting about their own shoes.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question!" Booth barked his arms folded across his chest and a foreboding frown on his face.

After about fifteen seconds of tense silence, Lance cleared his throat, "Well, you see Agent Booth, as several social integration theories point out, it is common for adolescent males who are suddenly thrust together into a stressful social situation to struggle to assert some degree of-"

Lance's rhetoric was cut short when Booth cleared the distance between himself and the young psychology student and took hold of his arm, dragging him to the closest corner. When he dropped the kid's arm he landed three powerful swats on the seat of the boy's jeans, eliciting a startled yelp from the teen.

"When I ask you a question, I want a straight answer, not some psychobabble meant to set my head to spinning. Plant your nose in that corner and think about a better answer."

His face flooding with humiliation, Lance didn't even consider arguing with the angry agent lest the man decide to do something even more embarrassing...not to mention painful. Satisfied that Lance was going to do as he said, Booth turned his attention to Zack who was backing away from the man, his eyes as big as saucers. Booth pointed to the only other free corner in the room and Zack was quick to comply with the non-verbal command. The man had to curb a grin when he realized that the young squint's hands were behind him, covering his butt.

Three strides and Booth was beside the young genius. "Move your hands, Zack."

"But I didn't babble," the boy pleaded shaking his head. "I didn't babble."

"You didn't answer me either. Now move 'em Zack or I take this lesson to a whole nother level."

The young anthropologist decided it would be in his best interest to obey and he slowly moved his hands to his sides. He received the same three blazing swats that Lance had before Booth's phone rang.

"I'm going to step out to take this call. Neither of you better move a muscle. When I come back, I'm going to want some answers." With that the man answered his phone and stepped into the hall, making certain to keep an eye on the two adolescents.

Zack rubbed furiously at the unfamiliar sting in his backside, somewhat in shock over what had just happened. The concept of corporeal punishment was not foreign to him as it had been used in his home, just never with him. He had never really warranted such attention.

Lance let his forehead rest on the cool wall, wondering what had come over him. He didn't pick fights and in fact generally abhorred the obnoxious taunting that he usually associated with dim-witted jocks. So why had he been goading Zack?

The teen gently banged his head against the wall. The boy in him wanted to justify his actions. Wanted to rage against the unjustness of Dr. Freeman's murder, his mother's dramatic decline in health, and the fact that someone he didn't even know wanted him dead. However, the emerging clinical psychologist within him recognized the truth. His feelings of grief and frustration paired with his lack of power to change anything were causing him to lash out. Somehow diagnosing himself really didn't help to make him feel better. His hand crept back and rubbed the seat of his jeans. Especially, when Booth was going to come back in here and tear him a new one for behaving so foolishly!

"I'm sorry, Zack," Lance said quietly. "I guess I've been really stressed by everything that's happened and, well, that didn't give me the right to be a jerk to you."

Zack was stunned. Of all things, he hadn't expected an apology. He had been taunted and teased countless times, but never had someone offered an apology. It seemed particularly incongruous because although Lance had indeed been annoying and obnoxious, Zack was well aware that he had been the first to become physical. Something he had never done before.

"I'm not used to being wrong," Zack blurted out by way of explanation for his own actions.

Lance chuckled at Zack's total lack of social grace, realizing this kid could really use some coaching in the area of pragmatics and social communication. "You're too hard on yourself. You were a big fish in a little pond back in Michigan. Here you're with a lot of other brilliant minds. Sure you're only fifteen and they're old, and that still makes your situation pretty gnarly but, come on man, ya hafta realize they've got years of experience. Cut yourself some slack."

"But you said Dr. Brennan did not think my error was minor and that she might be questioning my ability to make reasonable extrapolations based on the scientific data presented."

Lance shook his head. He was pretty sure he had NOT said all of that, but he knew what Zack meant and he felt bad. He'd used what he had learned about Zack this morning during their brief introduction at breakfast along with his observations this afternoon to really hit the kid where it hurt, so to speak.

"Dude, I was yankin' your chain. I was in a bad mood and just wanted to share the wealth. Dr. Brennan obviously thinks a lot of you."

"Really?"

Rolling his eyes, Lance had to curb a sarcastic retort. "Yeah, really, but, Dude, you have got to chill with the kissing up to her. It's over the top."

Zack's brow furrowed as he considered the other teen's words. Finally, he ventured a reply, "I apologize for punching you. Given this discussion it appears that my physical response was somewhat unwarranted."

"Ya think?" a deep voice demanded.

The boys turned their heads to see Booth standing behind them and Brennan just coming through the door.

"Booth, why are Zack and Lance standing in the corner?"

"Because Tweedle Dum and Tweetle Dee decided it was smart to get in a knock down drag out fight right here in the bone room so they are in time out thinking about their actions."

"Oh," Brennan nodded taking in the general disarray caused by the boy's altercation. "Why were they fighting?"

"Haven't exactly figured that out yet, but I will."

"While I certainly disapprove of their actions and do not want to undermine your disciplinary techniques or authority, Zack has work to do."

"Trust me, he'll work all the more diligently after having this little break."

"Okay, if you say so." Despite her words, the anthropologist seemed skeptical and Booth could see the inner conflict playing on her face. She was responsible for Zack. She should get involved, but adolescent boys in fist fights were somewhat outside her realm of expertise.

"I got, this, Bones," Booth assured his partner.

"Very well, she agreed but then her voice took on a sharp edge, "I want this room cleaned up, though, and later I will want to hear a full account of exactly what transpired here today."

"Gentleman," Booth prompted.

"Yes, Dr. Brenan."

"Yes, Ma'am."

With that Dr. Brennan left the two anxious teens to their fate.

"Alright, front and center, both of you," Booth commanded, sounding every bit the former Special Forces Master Sergeant. "Now what was this all about?"

"It was my fault, Agent Booth," Lance admitted, penitently. "I was kind of giving Zack a hard time."

"So, even though you _claim_ to want to find the people that killed Dr. Freeman, the same ones who are trying to kill _you_, you decided it was a good idea to disrupt one of the people who is trying to HELP do that? Not to mention that while I'm here dealing with this, I'm NOT doing my job!"

"I'm sorry, sir," Lance said, shamed by agent's words.

"It wasn't all his, fault," Zack stated quietly, not really wanting to redirect Booth's wrath to himself, but also feeling that he had to speak up.

"No, I figured that out. So do tell, Zack."

"I was upset about looking bad in front of Dr. Brennan, and I, ah, well, I ah," Zack stuttered, finding it difficult to continue. "I sort of hit Lance."

"So, you threw the first punch?"

"Yes, sir," the boy replied miserably.

"You do realize that if Dr. Goodman got word of something like this, you could very well be done here? All of your professional aspirations flushed down the toilet because you got your feelings hurt and decided to throw a punch? NOT smart Zack. And exactly how would that make Dr. Brennan look? She vouched for you and said you could do this despite your age."

Zack actually had tears in his eyes, and Booth figured the kid has taken his point. "Zack, you're grounded for two weeks. That means no lunch dates or other rendezvous with that girl from paleontology." Booth was actually fairly pleased with this aspect of this whole situation because he'd been looking for a reason to put the brakes on that relationship since his late night discussion with Zack. "No phone calls except to your mom or someone on this team. No television or attending special guest lectures in astrophysics or anything else like that. Obviously, anything directly related to your classes is okay, but no extras."

"Yes, sir," Zack agreed. "But does that include our outing?" he asked forlornly.

Booth grinned, pleased to realize how much their excursions meant to the kid. "Well, that's something I promised your mother we'd do, so no. Once this case is wrapped up that's back on."

Zack smiled appreciatively and Lance felt a stab of jealousy, which he quickly denounced as ridiculous. He was in Booth's protective custody. Nothing more. When this case was over, he'd probably never see the man again.

"Tomorrow morning bright and early, you two yahoos are going to come PT with me and I'll show you a healthier way to work out your frustrations. And as for _you_ Sigmund," Booth turned his attention back to Lance, "Since you are _already_ grounded, we'll talk tonight about what other consequence you can expect."

"Yes, sir."

"Now shake hands and get this mess cleaned up so we can go get some food!"

TBC…


	7. Organized Crime and Consequences

**Please see Chapter 1 for warnings and disclaimers.**

**A/N: A big thanks to Harliquinn for your help and input on this chapter!**

Organized Crime and Consequences - Chapter Seven

Lance cast an apprehensive look over at the FBI agent sitting in the driver's seat. Booth had ignored Zack's insistence that he had too much work to do, and taken both boys out for lunch. After a couple of hotdogs and a soda, they had returned to the Jeffersonian. Dr. Brennan had been awaiting their return, intent on getting her explanation. The recalcitrant teens had accounted for their actions, apologized profusely for putting evidence in harm's way, and promised to act more responsibly and appropriately in the future. Then Lance and Booth had said their goodbyes and headed for the Hoover building.

Now Lance couldn't shake his growing anxiety about the other consequence he had been promised. He really did not want to stress about this for the rest of the day. Still, he was having difficulty working up the courage to ask about it.

"So, uh, what else am I looking at here?" Lance finally blurted out, "I mean because of the fight with Zack?"

Booth grinned. Yeah, he definitely remembered this from being a kid. Waiting for a punishment was almost as bad as the punishment itself. He wasn't about to tell the boy he had no idea whatsoever what the kid's consequence was going to be. Lance had practically no life outside of school, and what life he did have, he had already been restricted from. On top of that, Lance wasn't even his kid. Booth was still puzzling through this conundrum.

"You know, I really should have busted your butt for leaving my apartment after I told you not to, which put your very life in danger," Booth said almost conversationally. "But, I'd only known you for a day, and well, with your mom and all, I thought I'd cut you some slack. Then you go and get in a fight in the Medico-lab, endangering evidence and interfering with an investigation. Still, stupid as your part was, Zack did throw the first punch. I'm telling you though, Lance, I'm done messing around. You've got two strikes and the third one ends with you having an up close and personal conversation with my right hand. Capiche?"

"Ah, yeah, I, uh, get it," Lance responded with a blush. After a few moments of silence Lance cleared his throat. "So, ah, that's it then?" he queried hopefully.

"Oh, no," Booth shook his head. "That is _not_ it. I said we'd talk about it tonight."

"But, couldn't you just tell me now?"

"Nope." Let the kid sweat it. He'd figure something out between now and then. Booth pulled into a parking space and cut the engine. "Come on kid. I've got work to do."

"What am I supposed to do? I don't even have any of my books."

"Whose fault is that?"

Lance rolled his eyes but bit back the words that he wanted to utter under his breath. He had probably tested Booth's patience enough for one day and, with the way his luck was going, the formidable FBI agent would hear him. It wasn't worth the risk.

The teen trudged along, considering his options for the boring afternoon. Maybe Booth would let him use an office computer. He could work on his paper for Emotions and Psychopathology. Actually, considering he was headed into the headquarters for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the idea seemed apropos.

Of course, getting Booth to agree to let him use a computer would undoubtedly be no easy feat. Lance considered the potential success of different persuasion techniques as they entered the elevator. The agent had seemed to have a soft spot for his mother. He could probably use that. In all honesty, he did want to do well in order to make his mother proud, and midterms were approaching.

Upon exiting the elevator all thoughts of manipulating Booth flew out the window, however. Lance stopped short and stared at the dark haired individual accompanied by two older gentlemen in suits. That was one of the men he'd seen talking with Dr. Freeman just before she had disappeared.

"Lance? You okay?" Booth asked, immediately aware of the kid's response and the cause of it. He eyed the trio and positioned himself defensively between Lance and the strangers.

"Yeah, but, that's one of the guys. The one Dr. Freeman called Luka," Lance said in a strained whisper.

Just then a probationary agent approached. "Agent Booth, Mr. Morelli just flew in from Boston. He came seeking information on his daughter's death. His son and lawyer are with him as well."

Booth stepped forward. "Thank you, Rawlings. Maybe you could show the gentleman to a room where we can talk. I'll be right there."

The young redhead gave a nod and moved to do just that while Booth waved at a bearded agent across the room. "Hey, James, could you take Lance here to my office and keep him company while I talk to Morelli?"

"Sure, Booth."

Lance looked ready to protest, but Booth shook his head. "Not negotiable. Go on."

BONES***BONES***BONES***BONES

"She is my daughter, Agent Booth. Of course I heard as soon as she was she was identified."

"So you knew your daughter was using the assumed name Arianna Freeman?"

"Of course," the gray-haired man replied stiffly. The man was aloof, and his face was an emotionless mask. Not exactly what one might expect from a bereaved father.

"Why was that exactly?"

"Theresa was displeased with some of my business dealings. She wanted nothing to do with me or my life. The choice was hers to make."

"Some of your business dealings?"

"Mr. Morelli is not here to discuss the private aspects of his business. He is here to find out what happened to his daughter," the lawyer informed Booth firmly.

"Okay," Booth looked straight into Frank Morelli's eyes, "She was drugged. Almost every bone in her body was broken. The flesh was peeled from much of her body," he stated ruthlessly, deliberately leaving out that most of her injuries occurred after her death in hopes of rattling some information from the organized crime boss.

Frank Morelli's face went ashen, while his son's suffused with rage. Bursting from his chair the younger Morelli loosed a string of expletives, turning over his chair and planting his fist into the wall with enough force to do some damage.

"Luka," the older man said curtly, his eyes flashing a warning to his son, who righted the chair and took a seat, though his dark eyes burned with fury.

"You went to visit your sister the week before she disappeared?" Booth directed his question to the younger man, who appeared to be in his mid to late twenties.

"Yeah," Luka's voice was thick with emotion. "I, ah, wanted her to come home for a visit. Ma's been sick, and well, we all missed her."

"Did you argue?"

"Yeah, I guess. She said, 'no.' I tried to convince her," he shrugged. "She ended with a maybe and that was good enough for me. I gave her a kiss, told her I'd call her the next week," the man's voice broke and tears pooled in his eyes. His father put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

"And did you stay in town or return to Boston?"

"My son came home that night," Frank Morelli answered tersely.

"Agent Booth, this has been very traumatic for the family," the lawyer interjected. "If you have no further questions…"

"Who would want to kill your daughter, Mr. Morelli?"

The man shook his head. "I will admit to having many enemies, but I've not had contact with Theresa for years. That's what she wanted. I don't know who would have done this."

"Do you have any dealings with Gino Episcopo?"

"Yes. We do business together. I was very good friends with his younger brother during college, but Joe died our senior year."

"Would you say that you are on good terms?"

"We aren't personal friends, but yes, as far as our business dealings go, I would say we are."

Booth watched the two Morelli men closely. The older gave away nothing, but Luka Morelli did not share his father's poker face. The younger man's jaw had tightened considerably when the agent mentioned Episcopo and he'd given his father a scathing look. There was definitely more here, but he was unlikely to get any straight answers with the elder Morelli and his lawyer present.

"Thank you, gentleman, for your cooperation. If you could possibly make a list of anyone who might have wanted to harm your family, that would be helpful to our investigation."

"Theresa's mother wants to know when we can bury her," Frank Morelli said quietly.

"We can't release the remains until our investigation is complete."

BONES***BONES***BONES***BONES

"You're kidding." Lance looked at the toothbrush in his hand and back to the FBI agent in abject horror.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" Booth asked with a straight face, though in all truth, he really wanted to laugh at the kid's comical response. After giving careful consideration to the rest of Lance's sentence, he decided on something from his military background. Field day. He didn't plan on making the kid do the kind of top to bottom cleaning of his apartment that recruits had to do of the barracks, but he figured having to clean the least desirable rooms in the place might make an impression.

"I am NOT cleaning your bathroom with a toothbrush," Lance insisted stubbornly.

"You can do it with persuasion or without, but you will be cleaning BOTH bathrooms. You can, however, use more than a toothbrush." Booth picked up the bucket of cleaning supplies and handed it to the teen with a satisfied smile. "I suggest you get busy. I ordered Thai. It should be here in about an hour."

"Effective consequences should somehow relate to the offense," Lance informed the man who had already moved to take a seat on the couch. "How does this remotely relate to getting into a fight?"

"Doesn't," Booth replied, flipping on the television set and kicking off his shoes. "But when you do things you _shouldn't, _it does result in you having to do things that you don't _want_ to. Fact of life, buddy."

With an irritated huff, Lance took the supplies and headed into the hall bathroom, muttering about overbearing law enforcement types with delusions of self-importance and inflated egos. Booth grinned and turned up the TV, choosing to ignore the kid.

Later that evening the two sat at the table sharing Asian cuisine.

"So how long do you think this will last? My needing protective custody?"

"Don't know. At least until we identify the other guy you saw with Dr. Freeman," Booth answered taking a bite of Pad Thai noodles from his plate. "Maybe longer, depending who that ends up being and if you are needed to testify."

"I have a really important project due soon, and I need to meet with my group tomorrow night," Lance informed agent. "I guess I could do it remotely, though. I could Skype Hailey and do it over the computer."

Booth raised his eyebrows. Things had changed some since he was in school, but given the technology used by the FBI and Jeffersonian, the agent wasn't really that surprised.

"What class is it for?" He asked conversationally, taking a drink of his water to wash down the spicy food.

"Social sexuality," Lanced answered, popping the rest of a spring roll into his mouth.

Booth coughed and sputtered, having choked on his water. "Does your mom know you're taking that class?"

"Not specifically, but I don't think she would have a problem with it," Lance grinned at the Booth's reaction and obvious discomfort. "She understands that my academic pursuits sometimes mean that I'm exposed to mature topics."

"Huh," Booth's response was noncommittal. "So what's this project on?"

"Well, we thought it would be interesting to research the varying response to public nudity in heterosexual verses homosexual populations. So we've mapped out a few coffee shops frequented by each population and plan on going in, stripping off all of our clothes, and videotaping the responses for later analysis."

"WHAT?!" Booth roared. "You are NOT doing that!"

Lance burst out laughing. "Of course not. I was just messing with you, Dude. We can't actually do anything illegal for a class project."

"Oh, ha, ha," Booth responded, tossing a balled up napkin at the still chuckling teen, "Yuck it up, Sigmund. Tomorrow you could be cleaning the public restrooms in the Hoover building."

"Jeesh! You've gotta lighten up, Agent Booth," Lance said with a grin. "Actually, I'm in a group with three girls so we are doing our project on the objectification of women in the media and the sexual connotations of that within our culture."

"And you think I need to lighten up?" Booth commented dryly.

"Hey, did you miss the part where the fifteen-year-old guy is in a group with three college co-eds studying social sexuality?" Lance waggled his eyebrows, or attempted to at least, the effect wasn't quite what he was hoping for and actually came off pretty goofy.

Booth laughed then, both at the physical expression and the boy's words. At least some part of Lance was a normal teenage boy.

"And what do these college co-eds think of you?"

"Oh, they think I'm cute." Lance's face scrunched up into a rather disgusted look. "Not the good kind of cute, the puppy kind, but that's better than the guys from the last group project."

"Must be hard. Don't you miss being around kids your own age?"

"Sometimes," Lance answered honestly, "But it's kind of six of one, half dozen of the other, because I believe I would equally dislike the mundane curriculum of a normal high school, and the relatively shallow discourse of most kids my own age."

"Guess it's kind of a catch twenty-two, huh?"

Lanced shrugged, "It isn't really that big a deal. Adolescence is awkward for most individuals to some degree, particularly for those with a more intellectual cant, but it's really a fairly short portion of one's life. I like studying psychology – it's awesome! So, if I'm having a good time, really what's there to complain about?"

The FBI agent couldn't help but be impressed with the kid's positive outlook. Adopted or not Lance definitely took after his mother, and that was a good thing in Booth's book.

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

Saturday mid-morning Booth sat in Brennan's office playing with a paperweight from her desk while he waited for her to arrive. When he'd dropped Zack off at Bones' apartment after their morning PT session, they had agreed to meet at the Jeffersonian once he and the boys had cleaned up. He wanted to leave Lance at the Jeffersonian with Bones while he went to interview Gino Episcopo. Despite it being Saturday, Dr. Brennan had some reconstructions that she wanted to complete for the museum. The case had interfered with her finishing them earlier in the week. Booth was restless, wondering what was taking her so long. As if cued by his thoughts, Dr. Brennan stormed into the office dumping a bag and a stack of books on her desk.

"This was a gift from a colleague and dates back to the second century AD," the anthropologist said with irritation as she reached over and removed the cylindrical stone from his hands and set it back upon her desk.

"Sor-ry," Booth replied, looking askance at his partner, curiosity piqued by her dramatic mood change from earlier in the morning. He did not have to wonder for long, however.

"You damaged Zack," she stated tersely.

"What?"

"After he showered and dressed, he fell onto the couch and refused to move. He said he couldn't lift his arms or legs. It took me half an hour to get him off the couch and out to the car."

"He's being dramatic, looking for sympathy," Booth snorted with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't _damage_ him. Yeah, he might be a little sore. Kid could use a little more physical activity, but he'll be fine."

"While I appreciate the need to balance intellectual pursuits with physical fitness for one's health and well-being, I think you might have over done it with the boys this morning."

"Well, this was not just a workout aimed at physical fitness," Booth reminded her expressing some irritation of his own at this point. "It was also meant to be a deterrent - you know keep them from getting into fist fights and trashing your lab."

"Yes, I know, but I'm not sure significant muscle strain is an appropriate consequence."

"Bones, with all you know about the human body, you know he's going to recover just fine in next to no time."

Dr. Brennan sat down with a sigh. "Yes, I do," she admitted. "I suppose his incessant complaining on the way here just made me irritable. I apologize."

"Yeah, well, kids usually whine and moan about their punishments. It's their job to try and drive their parents crazy."

"But I am not Zack's mother and _you're_ the one who punished him so _you're_ the one he should be driving crazy."

Booth chuckled. "I'd just tell him to suck it up and behave himself next time. Don't forget, Bones, no matter how much he whines he's grounded for the next two weeks. No TV or extra curricular activities."

"I removed the television from his room last night. You know that's the only one in my apartment."

"Good for you, just stick to your guns. Where is he anyway?"

"He went up to the lounge. I told him he could rest for awhile before we started on the reconstructions."

"Lance is there, too," Booth told her with a nod, "Look, I gotta go, Episcopo's due to arrive for his interview in less than an hour."

"Booth, I still think -"

"No, Bones, not going to happen," he cut her off, knowing she was going to argue to attend the interview. "I'll check back in with you when I'm done."

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

Lance groaned as he lay spayed in the chair, not even attempting to look at the books scattered on the table in front of him. "Dude, I'm sore in places I didn't even know that I had."

Zack's brow furrowed as he collapsed into a nearby seat. "You've had an anatomy class. I don't understand how there could be places on your body that you didn't know that you had."

"It's an expression. I feel like I hurt everywhere," Lance responded in exasperation.

"Oh, well, then I concur with your observation. I tried to convince Dr. Brennan to let me stay on the couch but she insisted that since I had wasted time fighting yesterday, I could help with the reconstructions today."

Zack grinned. "I thought you were all about overtime when it came to classifying bones with Dr. Brennan."

"Normally, yes, but it hurts just to lift my arms."

"Don't I know it!"

"I find that I am relieved that Agent Booth insisted that I cancel my lunch with Naomi," Zack sighed, leaning his head back on the chair and closing his eyes.

"Girlfriend?"

Zack opened one eye and looked at Lance. "She is a girl and we are friends. However, if you are referring to a regular female companion with whom I share a monogamous romantic or physical relationship, then I think the answer would be no. She wanted to become sexually involved, but Booth did not think that it was a good idea. She is older than myself."

Lance whistled. "How much older?"

"Three years."

"Oh, that's not too bad."

Zack opened both eyes and sat up a little. "So do you think it would have been reasonable to agree to ave sexual intercourse?"

The psychology student looked thoughtful. "Gee, I don't know, man. I mean, I think about it, and if some of the girls in my classes came on to me like that, I don't know what I'd do. I mean it would be kinda cool and _way_ exciting." Lance finally shook his head. "I don't think so, though. I mean kissing, petting, you know maybe even all the way to third base, but I don't think you want to try scoring with someone you aren't even sure is your girlfriend."

"I am confused what baseball has to do with a physical relationship."

"Just another expression."

"But you think it is wise to decline her request?"

Lance shrugged. "I'm taking this social sexuality class, and sex can mean very different things to guys and girls. There can be a whole lot of emotional baggage that comes along with it."

"Booth said you should be in love with the first person that you are with sexually."

"That kinda makes sense. It would probably help with the emotional complexities."

"He says that I will know when I am ready. My concern is that I have not always excelled in physical pursuits, today being a prime example. I am concerned that when the time comes I might not be as adept as I would like to be."

"Read a book," Lance suggested.

"There are books?"

"Sure." Lance sat up, grimacing as his muscles protested even that minimal movement. He opened his lap top and the only sound was the tap of his fingers on the keys for the next couple of minutes. Then he turned the computer toward Zack and showed him his search results.

"That would be most helpful," the young graduate student remarked eagerly.

BONES****BONES****BONES***BONES

"Mr. Episcopo, do you recognize any of these individuals?" Booth asked, laying down the photographs of their three murder victims in front of the man who was wearing an expensive tailored Italian suit.

"Yes. Two of them were on the news last month. I did not know them personally, but my company has dealings with their families' businesses," the white-haired man replied, pointing to the pictures of the male victims. "I also recognize Theresa Morelli. Her father and my youngest brother were close friends in college."

"They both attended Georgetown University," Booth commented.

"That is correct," the man's gray eyes met Booth's evenly, radiating calm resolve.

"And you currently have business dealings with Frank Morelli?"

"Yes." Having obviously been coached by his attorney, the suspected organized crime boss provided short succinct answers and offered nothing extra.

"Interesting how the kids of your business associates keep showing up dead on the Georgetown campus."

"My client has generously taken time away from pressing family matters in order to answer your questions, Agent Booth, so please ask your questions and do not waste our time on specious observations," the Episcopo's attorney demanded in a clipped tone.

"Yeah, your son was in an accident, I hear. Is he okay?"

"Yes. Thank you for asking," the older gentleman responded dryly, well aware that Booth cared nothing for his son's well being. Episcopo did, however, break with his adherence to limited responses and offer an explanation, something not lost on the FBI Agent. "He was riding his motorbike off trail and lost control, but he's going to be fine."

"Glad to hear it," Booth responded, well aware that the junior Episcopo's injuries probably had nothing to do with an ATV accident. He laid a drawing on the table. "Do you recognize this man, Mr. Episcopo?"

The older gentleman's face tensed slightly, and his lawyer whispered into his ear.

"I suppose he bears some resemblance to my son, Dante," the man answered tightly.

"The motocross son?"

"No, that was my youngest son, Leo."

"And where might I find Dante?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss that."

"Not at liberty? Listen up, Mr. Episcopo, your son was the last person seen with Ms. Morelli while she was still alive and they were heard arguing. You will tell me where your son is or I will have you arrested for obstruction of a federal murder investigation."

The hawk-nosed attorney once again leaned over and whispered into his client's ear. Episcopo murmured a soft but terse response to the man who responded with a placating tone, but with words still too quiet to carry.

Episcopo's jaw clenched and he offered Booth a murderous glare. "Dante has been admitted to a mental health facility, his doctors have him on suicide watch."

"I'll need the name and location of that hospital."

"Well you won't be getting either from me."

"Mr. Episcopo-"

"My son is ill, Agent Booth," the man cut in sharply, "and I have no intention of subjecting him to anything that may worsen his condition or possibly endanger his life."

"So he's feeling guilty about killing his ex-girlfriend because she wouldn't get back together with him, and now wants to off himself, too?"

"This interview is OVER!" the lawyer stated emphatically, coming to his feet.

"I think a judge will agree that the circumstances of Dante's little breakdown are a tad suspicious."

"Then you may contact us when you have substantiated that belief and have a court order," the attorney replied, ushering Mr. Episcopo from the room.

TBC...


End file.
